


Mending Broken Chains

by JoyHeart



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Bondage, Character Death, Children, Drama, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family, Fluff, Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, Non Consensual, Pirates, Romance, Sexual Content, Torture, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 186,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyHeart/pseuds/JoyHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pirate AU, Naval Captain!Arthur, Pirate!Francis</p><p> </p><p>Arthur Kirkland is a seasoned captain in the British Royal Navy, out on the sea both for the adventure of it, and to keep himself and his youngest brother Peter away from his eldest brother Scott and their other brothers, all of whom are... less than familial toward them. Arthur loves the sea, and Peter, but little else. He hates far more things, his lot in life, his childhood, and of course the French but that was normal for any Brit.</p><p>Then one day he is pulled from his ship by a French pirate who both wants and needs Arthur to rethink his small troubled world and open his heart to someone new. What begins as a kidnapping soon turns to a better escape from his life than the Navy ever was, but will Arthur be able to outrun his elder brothers forever when Scott is dead set on bringing him home? And will he be able to make himself happy with the small make-shift family Francis provides him? And what will Arthur do if that small bit of happiness falls apart as well?</p><p> </p><p>~on hiatus, probably abandonned as my rp partner left me years ago and i dont really have motivation to finish without her...~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This was a role play between myself and Firey_Nii_Wolf on fanfiction.net. I'm posting it here, she's posting it on ff.net with heavily editted sex scenes. Now I editted this fairly heavily too in places, but mostly just trying to hide the obvious breaks between us as we switched between our characters.
> 
> I was Francis. She was Arthur. If you want to try guessing at who played everyone else, feel free I suppose. I'm not going to bother, especially since we sometimes took control of each other's characters if we felt we needed to for some reason.
> 
> ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy.

### 

Chapter 1: No Hope

Arthur glared as he slipped the telescope back into his red jacket pocket. Damn French pirates; the British navy already had enough to deal with regarding its own, English pirates, without the frogs trying to control British waters as well. If the sea were to fall to piracy Arthur would rather it fall to the British pirates at least rather than them. Arthur glared at the three French ships in the distance, the beginnings of fear in his heart. Calculations and possibilities flew through his mind, all ending in tragedy.

"Captain, what're your orders?" Alfred demanded as he came up behind the British naval general. Alfred was his blue eyed, blonde first mate who Arthur treated like a son. The captain sighed, irritation and anger rushing through his veins.

What pissed him off the most was that the damn Frogs had him and his crew outgunned, outnumbered, and would most likely be able to quickly catch up. His thoughts drifted to his youngest brother, Peter, who was currently hiding below deck under his orders. Arthur deeply regretted giving in to his brother's pleas and sneaking him aboard; he should've known something like this would happen.

"Captain?"

With a heavy heart, Arthur turned to his first mate, determination flashing in his emerald eyes. If he was going down, then by god he'd go down fighting!

"Prepare to be boarded," Arthur commanded. "We fight, to the death if we bloody well must!" Alfred smiled widely, the fire in his captain's eyes spreading quickly.

"Aye aye captain!" The blonde quickly turned, yelling out orders to the men. Arthur cast a doubtful look back at the ships before following his first-mate.

\-- --

To the man standing at the bow of the leading pirate ship, it seemed as though God was on the side of the French. Not that this surprised him, it was the case most of the time after all. His long blonde locks of hair blew forward in the breeze in a way he well knew was so sexy that some jealous men might call it obnoxious. The wind was on his side and the waves were of favourable condition as well. Not to mention that the English ship they were rapidly approaching was in no way equipped to fend off an attack from three pirate ships.

It was a good day to be a pirate captain, especially one as stunningly attractive as the man at the bow. It was a good day to be Francis Bonnefoy, of this fact he was certain.

" _Préparez-vous mes amis; le goût du sang anglais est douce_!" His laugh rang over his crew and they roused themselves to action, preparing their swords and making ready the planks for when they would be close enough to board. Francis smiled, perhaps the most luck he had today was that their victim was the English. If there was any on earth he preferred to slaughter and steal from it was they, the British who saw themselves as masters of the seas and rulers of the world, despite not even having the slightest good taste in food or fashion! Be it English of the crown or English pirates, either one looked their best being trampled into the ground with their blood pooling around them as far as the captain was concerned. 

" _Pardon, mon capitaine!_ " The soft voice of the cabin boy, Mathieu, suddenly came to the captain's attention.

"Ah Mathieu! You know you may call me _Papa, non_?" Mathieu’s hair was as silky as the captain's and the boy himself was still as adorable as he was as a child. Francis had made sure of that. It was a good thing that Francis had gotten it in his head that Mathieu would be like a son to him, or else he probably would've deflowered the poor boy the second he had reached puberty. Surely that had been among his thoughts when he first picked the small boy up off the streets in an American port town many years ago.

At that moment on the pirate ship, Mathieu flushed red. "Ah, _o-oui_ , um… well, I was only going to ask… do you suppose I could try to um… try to help attack the English ship? You know, this one time?"

Francis' eyes darkened. " _Non_. Mathieu, it is too dangerous for _mon petit chou_ , you will go below deck as usual. Go!"

Mathieu looked about to protest, but resorted to nodding glumly and making his way through the throng of eager pirates. Francis smiled. The boy did have a spirit in him, he knew better than anyone, but his fair figure was best kept out of such brutality. 

Finally the English ship was close enough to make out the scrambling people onboard it, and Francis' grin widened. They would be fools not to know resistance was pointless. Of course he wouldn't be allowed to kill all of them; his friends Gilbert and Antonio, those captaining the other two ships in his small fleet, already had announced their desire to take some sailors in hopes of selling them as slaves. Admittedly this was a good way to make money, but Francis himself could not see why anyone would want an English slave. What with their poor sense of taste and ridiculously better-than-thou attitudes. Oh, and they were ugly too, beastly creatures.

Still, Francis could at least look forward to driving his cutlass straight through the heart of the English captain. He licked his lips as his ship at last came side-along with the English and the cannons were prepared should the English try to defend themselves. He opened his mouth and gave the order, " _Attaquer_!”

\-- --

"Fire at will!" Arthur screeched, nearly falling over from the sudden impact of the French canons. He drew his cutlass; his men who weren't working the canons right behind him did the same with their own weapons. "For the Queen men, for the Queen!" Arthur shouted, agreeing shouts from the men behind him. As soon as planks fell on each side of the ship, the English launched into attack.

Arthur slashed down anyone within reach, giving in to his more violent side as he decapitated one pirate, and then slashed the throat of another. In the back of his mind, he realized that the invading ships were actually three different nationalities; Spanish, French, and what he assumed to be German. Arthur gave a quick look around, pride welling in his body as he saw how good of a resistance his men were putting up.

"Art! Art!" Arthur's heart dropped when he heard the voice. He swirled around, stabbing and shoving a Spanish man out of his way to see his youngest brother, Peter Kirkland, struggling to hold a cutlass far too heavy for him.

"Peter, go back to my quarters!" Arthur shrieked, panic clogging his senses. Peter was the only good thing in his life, and he'd be damned if he let ANYONE hurt Peter.  
"Art, I can help!" Peter pleaded. Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but noticed movement behind his brother. Another pirate was moving towards the boy in what seemed like the intention to kill. With a rage filled yell, Arthur pulled out his gun and shot the man dead. Peter turned and gasped as the dead man fell, horror filling his soft blue eyes. Arthur rushed over to him, grabbing Peter by the collar of his shirt.

"Get to my quarters before I fill you with lead too!" Arthur hissed, shoving the boy in the direction after he had nodded. Arthur swirled around, his eyes daring around for his next target. A German pirate lunged at him and missed, rather expertly recovered and delivered a killing blow. Soon other pirates began launching themselves at him, but the British captain made short work of them. Arthur rammed his cutlass straight through another particularly tall pirate, making Arthur curse his short height, when he heard Alfred's familiar voice ring through the ship.

"Fall back! Fall back!"

"What the devil?" Arthur huffed, sliding his cutlass out and letting the dead body fall. Surprise overtook him when he noticed the man who had been standing directly behind the now dead pirate, out of Arthur's field of vision. He was tall, at least in Arthur's mind, with long wavy blonde hair tied back and clear sea blue eyes that gleamed with mischief and something like lust, with stubble growing on his chin. The man wore a thick light blue jacket, a loose white shirt underneath and tight black pants. Around his waist were a gun and an empty sword shaft. In his hand, a sword, pointed directly toward Arthur's chest.

The blue eyed pirate smiled, though the smile was more lewd than anything. One of his perfectly formed eyebrows rose in challenge. "Oh ho, would I be facing the captain of these English pigs?" the pirate laughed, his eyes gleaming. "I must say I expected a bit more of an intimidating figure, but by the merit of your swordsmanship I have to assume as much? Still you are clearly no match for myself! God is on my side, after all!"

At that moment another pirate, this one with pale skin, white hair and red eyes like a demon approached from the blue eyed man's left. "Hey Francis, are you gonna talk or drive your sword through his chest? I want to start taking prisoners already!"

"Patience Gilbert, _mon ami_ , can I not play with my food?"

"Play with it? Kesese, you think he's worth it?"

Francis' grin widened. "Worth it? Well we shall have to see, I always enjoy a good duel!" His eyes bored into Arthur's green ones, but briefly drifted upwards. "My what... interesting eyebrows you have, _Anglais_. Does sea life prevent you from caring for them properly or is it the English fashion to wear them so one looks like a beast?"

Arthur chose to stay quiet about the comment, sliding into a slight defensive crouch. "I am indeed the captain of this ship," Arthur growled, tightening his grip on the sword. "Stupid shit eating frog faces, get the bloody hell off my ship!"

In reality, Arthur knew his ship and crew were doomed, he'd known that from the start, but his protective instinct was currently overrunning his logic. He would NOT allow the damn pirates to find nor harm Peter. Arthur opened his mouth to speak again, but noticed Alfred, who was hiding behind some barrels, from the corner of his eye, aiming a gun at the Frenchman standing before him. Arthur growled, placing one hand behind his back and rapidly sending Alfred hand symbols. With a curt nod, Alfred pointed toward the pirate with the white hair. Arthur circused back on the French pirate, impatient. He lunged forward, sending an excellent strike toward the man's leg.

Francis, however, was also quite experienced with a sword and quickly parried the blow, leaping backwards slightly to be out of reach before launching forward again, sending an elegant swing of the sword to Arthur's waist, slicing through his belt. There was no intention to kill just yet, if anything Francis seemed to want to humiliate the Englishman before getting to that. Arthur felt his face heating red as his uniform pants began to sag; he gripped them, quickly dodging all of the slashes aimed for his pants, blindly swinging his sword.

"Kesese!" Gilbert laughed, but it was then he happened to glance toward the barrels sitting nearby and his laughter faded. He frowned and began to search the deck. Then his eyes locked to something and he grinned again. "Hey Antonio! Way to have my back!"

" _Hola amigo_! You know the only one sending a bullet through your chest is me!" The tall Spanish man with chestnut coloured hair smiled calmly as he walked towards the barrels, his own gun aimed surely at the head of the man hidden there. Arthur’s gaze flickered toward Alfred, the green orbs widening.

"Tch, that's not nice..." Gilbert pouted, folding his arms as he returned to watching Francis try his best to slice the Englishman's pants off of him. 

Arthur growled at the Frenchman, his eyes flicking toward his cabin repeatedly as he parried Francis’ sword where he could. Francis noticed this and he chanced a glance the same direction. He decided to taunt the Englishman again. "Oh, would the English captain be hiding his whore away from us? I hope you left her with a loaded pistol; because that is the only way she will escape pleasing the rest of my crew, _non_?"

"In the cabin?" Gilbert turned toward it now. "You want me to check it out, Fran?"

"Later _mon ami_ , she will still be there when I am done..."

"Well hurry up!"

" _Non_! Look at his face, he's going as red as a cherry, it is adorable!" Francis practically giggled, now tearing through pieces of Arthur's shirt.

"Phht," Gilbert snickered. "I never thought you'd call an Englishman 'adorable'."

"Hmph," Francis frowned, sending a harder swing toward Arthur's arm. However this one was uncalculated and did little more than leave an opening for Arthur to open a shallow wound across Francis’ own right arm. Scowling, Francis switched his sword to his left hand. "Perhaps you ought to check the cabin now after all, if you are so bored."

"Right!" Gilbert cackled and headed for the cabin door.

"NO!" Arthur screamed, abandoning his fight and lunging at Gilbert. He flung himself onto the man, sending fierce hard punches. "NO! NO! NO!"

"Ah! Little bastard! _NEIN_! Geddoff!" Gilbert flailed about, taken by surprise by the sudden attack from the Englishman.

"Oh my! It seems the _Anglais_ IS hiding his little whore from us!" Francis' grin darkened, eyes narrowing as Arthur raised a knife. " _Non_ ," He said simply as he snatched a heavy piece of splintered wood from the ground and swung it heavily into the back of Arthur's head, sending him to the ground.

"Damn it; that short brat had some arm to him." Gilbert rubbed his back as Antonio roared with laughter from his place as he watched the scene while some of his men tied Alfred's wrists behind his back. 

"Still does; I think," Francis said quietly, feeling for Arthur's pulse. "He still lives."

Gilbert struggled to his feet and sighed. "Well, finish him off then! You want me to check the cabin?"

"Oui, that would be best," Francis said quietly as he flipped Arthur onto his back with his boot and prepared his sword to drive through the man’s chest. 

"Hey, there's a kid in here!" Gilbert said suddenly. Francis paused.

"A child? Girl or boy?"

"A boy, he has the same bushy brows as the captain, think they're probably related or something," Gilbert grinned at the boy inside. "Hey kid, that your dad out there? Too bad Fran's gonna kill him, huh?"

"Non."

"Uh?" Gilbert turned in surprise. Antonio had even ceased his endless smile.

" _Amigo_ , are you feeling alright?" The Spaniard asked, looking confused.

"I am fine." A small smile tugged at Francis' lips. "I think... I think I will bring him with me. And best bring the boy as well."

"But, why?" Gilbert asked, looking a bit dejected.

Francis smirked and swept the hair that had flattened to his forehead with sweat from his eyes. It was sexy sweat though, of course; more of a glow really. "I think I would like to see his humiliated face a bit more before I kill him. But of course he would be difficult to tame. I think the boy could be good... leverage..." To this explanation, Francis' friends grinned. That was the perverted Frenchman they knew and loved.

"Now then, I believe you wished to collect slaves?"

"HERE HERE!" a loud cheer came from across the boat.

Peter stared at his unconscious brother, tears streaming down his face. His heart was thumping with fear as he struggled against the pirate's grip in order to get closer to his brother.

"Pete, calm down," Alfred soothed from where he was tied. "Artie's fine."

Peter only glanced at him before staring back at his brother, willing Arthur to wake up and fight. His view was blocked as the French pirate stepping in front of him, smiling in a sickly sweet way. Peter bit his lip, his heart pounding louder.

"S-Stupid jerk Frog!" Peter snapped, trying to imitate his brother's ferocity, but failing greatly due to the fear radiating in his blue eyes and tears streaming down his face.

Francis' gave a dark grin as he grasped Peter's hair, tugging his head sharply back. "Ah, so you are the child of the captain? It is true there is a family resemblance around those beastly eyebrows. Ah, but you still have a youthful innocence about you..."

"Ne, hey Fran, Toni’s supposed to be the pedophile!" Gilbert snorted, still holding Peter by the back of his shirt.

"Hey! I'm not a pedophile, Romano was an exception!"

"Kesese! And his little brother?"

"I never did anything to him!"

"You wanted to!"

"Enough!" Francis scowled. "I have no intention of touching this boy in such a way! Though he might be a nice servant for Mathieu until I've finished playing with my dear _Anglais_ ," Francis' smile returned, but this time a little less creepy. "Mathieu is _mon petit fils_ , you will get along quite well I'm sure, if you don't want your father to experience more pain than needed of course..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH. 1 TRANSLATIONS (I only translate what I don’t think most people would know)
> 
>  
> 
> Préparez-vous mes amis; le goût du sang anglais est douce! – (French) Prepare yourselves my friends; the taste of English blood is sweet!


	2. New Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter is from Alfred's POV, seeing as Arthur is unconcious... formerly written as our third chapter/extra, we decided it was better to keep things more chronological so HERE WE ARE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, I will be updating this story on Fridays, so as to keep our role play ahead of where we are in chapter production for as long as possible. Who doesn't like regular updates?

### 

Chapter 2: New Station

Alfred had watched in sickening horror as Arthur had fallen unconscious. He had been unable to do a thing with the blasted Spaniard holding a gun to his head, and now his arms were firmly bound behind his back. It was humiliating to be surprised in such a way; he hadn’t noticed the other man at all, too focused on rescuing Arthur.

Afraid though he was, he still managed to get out some words of comfort to Arthur’s brother Peter who looked as sick as Alfred felt. They both had been bound tightly with ropes and made to kneel in the center of their ship with their other captured crewmates. Arthur had been taken off to one side and Francis was making sure to keep the limp body close enough to keep an eye on, in case it stirred.

Alfred leaned closer to Peter as the boy shook and whispered to him. “Don’t worry kid; everything’s going to be just fine. We’ll get out of this. Once we’re on the pirates’ ship together we’ll start planning a mutiny, okay? And Artie will help us when he wakes up. Right?” Peter stared up at his brother's best friend with teary eyes. The determined look on the other's face made Peter nod, wiping his tears on his shirt the best he could with his hands tied behind him.

"For Art," Peter agreed. "We need to save my brother!"

“Yeah, we’ll be heroes! Sounds good, huh?” Alfred smiled. The smile faded somewhat though as he saw what he had decided had to be the three pirate captains having some kind of conversation nearby. Another pirate had just run up to them and announced that there were definitely no other people on the ship left alive apart from the captives on deck. 

The French pirate captain grinned at this news. “ _Bon_! So we can divide them up now, I suppose? Well you all know who I am taking.” Francis gave a meaningful look in Arthur’s direction. “And his _petit fils_ as well. But otherwise I don’t really care about any in particular; you know how I generally feel about English slaves after all. Gilbert?” Francis gave a look asking him if he had any special requests.

"Ah, ya know it really doesn't matter to me either, Francis," Gilbert replied, carelessly shrugging his shoulders. "So long as they work and do as they're told, they won't die." His ruby eyes scanned the deck, landing on the larger and buffer looking Englishmen. "Ludwig might've mentioned something about needing gunners though," Gilbert said, scratching his head. 

Peter's eyes widened, hearing the conversation. He whimpered and buried his face into Alfred's stomach, whimpering fearfully. "I don't want to go with the Frog," Peter whispered, "He's disgusting."

Alfred winced a bit. “Yeah, he is, ain’t he? But you know you’ve got to be brave now, huh? I know you’ve got the guts to get through this alright. And you’ll still be with Artie and me, so just stick close to us okay?”

Meanwhile the pirates were still in conversation. Francis nodded to Gilbert and turned to the third captain. “And you, Antonio, anything of interest?”

The Spanish man scratched at his chin thoughtfully as he surveyed the captives. “Hmm... well I do need someone strong to help out around the ship. And someone young preferably...”

Francis grinned. “Your tastes will never change, _non_?”

Antonio flushed. “I told you before, I have Lovino, he’s enough! I mean young as in someone who can work for long periods of time in the sun without having heart failure! Anyway, where’s the one I... oh there!” Antonio smiled brightly again and pointed straight at Alfred. “That one will do great!”

“ _Oui_ , that’s fine. It’s best if he’s on a different ship then his captain anyway I think. And Gilbert can have a few of the stronger looking ones for his guns. The rest we shall divide and put below deck for sale in port. Food and material goods we will of course divide evenly as well.”

As the captains worked out the finer points of how they would divide their booty, Alfred bit his lip and looked down at Peter. “Alright so... I’m on the other ship... but you’ve still got Artie and... Pete it’s totally going to be fine, you’ll see. These guys seem like friends of some sort, so they’ll probably sail together a while and so,” Alfred’s voice dropped, “And so whenever they pull into a port to sell our crewmates, we can pull off a heroic escape and rescue! Sounds good?”

Peter looked up into Alfred's determined eyes and nodded. He glanced over at his unconscious older brother before staring up at Alfred again. "Al? Why does the Frog want my brother so badly?" Peter asked, nervous of the answer he would receive.

“Um...” Alfred swallowed a bit and wouldn’t look Peter in the eye. “No idea.”

As the two spoke, three pirate crews began roughly dragging captives to their feet to begin walking them across planks to other ships, primarily Antonio’s and Gilbert’s. Soon Alfred and Peter’s vision was obscured by Francis and Antonio. Gilbert was already picking out the men he would use at his guns. Francis gave a sick grin to Peter. 

“Time to say goodbye to your friend, _non_?”

The Spanish man frowned. “That’s a bit mean _amigo_ , I mean, if they’re both working for us they’ll probably see each other again.”

“ _Oui_ , perhaps, but I wouldn’t have that happen anytime soon. We don’t want them... planning anything...”

Peter glared at the Frenchman, burying his face in Alfred's shoulder before looking up at him. "Don't forget us," Peter whispered to Alfred. "Art and I are depending on you!"

Alfred smiled once last time at Peter before Antonio dragged him to his feet. “You know it Pete.” With a wink, he let Antonio lead him toward the gangplank on the left side of the ship. Most of his crewmates were already being led across as well. Once they were locked away the pirates would begin looting for material wealth on their ship and then... then they would probably sink it. Unless they chose to put some men on it to drive her to shore to be stripped of wood and sold piece by piece, since it was too dangerous to sail a ship from the British navy and bad luck to redesign and rename her. 

Alfred thought about these things to distract himself as he was led away from Peter, whom he knew would be hauled aboard the French pirate ship momentarily.

Antonio snapped him from his thoughts by speaking suddenly, throwing his arms wide open. “ _Inglēs_ , welcome to my ship, _el Tomate Hermosa_!” The Spaniard grinned. “My Lovi named her after my last ship sank. Isn’t it the most wonderful name?” Antonio wore a starry eyed expression for a moment before becoming serious. “Your duties will be to keep the ship’s deck clean, keep the canons in working order, and... well we’ll see how you do with those first. What did you do on the English ship?”

"AW! I got stuck with stupid chores!" Alfred pouted. He glared at the Spanish man before sighing. "I was first mate to Captain Kirkland," he replied, his voice swelling with pride.

Antonio’s smile quickly returned. “Oh, so you’re literate, maybe good with numbers? _Estupendo_! You can help taking inventory too! I really hate doing it because it’s so dull, but the only ones besides me who can really do it are my two Italians and my own first mate. But Lovino rarely helps and even if Feliciano’s literate he makes a lot of mistakes, and even with Miguel helping it still takes forever...” With a sigh, Antonio began showing Alfred around the deck of the ship before they came across a man only a bit younger than Antonio. 

“Miguel! Look, I got a slave to help out with inventory! Isn’t that great?” Antonio smiled at his first mate. The other man bore a resemblance to Antonio, their hair was the same shade. But Miguel’s hair hung down further, a bit past his ears, and his own eyes weren’t as wide and innocent-looking as Antonio’s. They were brown too, and his skin was more tanned. Altogether he seemed like a slightly shorter, darker version of the Spanish captain. 

Miguel frowned a bit at Antonio’s words. “I don’t know... how do you know he won’t screw it up just to mess with us?”

Antonio shrugged. “Well, if he does, he can just do more hard labour, _si_? Oh!” He turned to Alfred. “This is my cousin and first mate, Miguel! And Miguel this is... er...” Antonio frowned. “Um, what’s your name, then?”

Alfred had let his mind wander as soon as he had started talking, busy looking around the deck as they made their way to where the supplies where stored. He briefly glanced at the man before him before turning his attention to the large cargo hold. Realizing he was being addressed, he snapped back to reality. The sheer size of the ship’s interior had shocked the young man. He blinked before remembering the question.

"Oh! My name is Alfred," Alfred chirped happily. "Alfred F. Jones. Born in good ol' America!" He looked around at the ship, scanning the place again, his eyes lingering on the small portholes. He turned back to the Spaniard, a disbelieving look in his eyes.

"So you’re seriously going to have me count the crap in here?" he questioned. "That sounds risky but cool at the same time." Alfred stared at Miguel for a bit, sizing him up before breaking out in a large smile."Hmm, not Artie's ship, but it'll do." He needed to stay alive and well to rescue Peter and his captain, and the best way to do that right now was to co-operate. Miguel glanced at Alfred’s smiling face, which reminded him very much of his captain’s. He grimaced at the thought of two of them together on one ship.

“ _Si_ , well, what can you steal anyway, being a prisoner?” Antonio laughed, “It’s not as if you’re allowed to leave the ship or anything. Oh! Miguel, we need some ankle chains!”

“Er, right that makes sense. Yes sir.” With a nod, Miguel headed off toward the door that the other Englishmen had disappeared through before on their way to the brig.  
Alfred raised an eyebrow after Miguel left. "Hmmmm. Looks like I can have some fun before the Hero saves everyone!" Alfred murmured to himself, smiling wider.

“Ah? What was that?” Antonio looked at Alfred curiously, but Miguel had returned quite quickly. 

“Here, sir,” Miguel said, handing his captain the chains. 

“Ah, _bueno_! Now hold still Alfred F Jones,” Antonio gave another strong smile and bent over to attach the chains to his captive’s ankles. Alfred's smile immediately fell, his lips curling downward in a scowl. After the Spanish man had clasped them around his legs, he took an experimental step forward, falling flat on his face.

"Stupid chains!" Alfred wailed, rolling on his back and flailing childishly. "I can’t walk, Mr Captain dude sir!"

“Sure you can! You just need to take smaller steps!” Antonio giggled. “Well, have fun swabbing the deck! Miguel, I leave him to you!”

“To me? But-“ Miguel tried to protest, but Antonio was already striding away confidently. Miguel sighed and scratched his head, looking down at Alfred. “Alright Alfred, get up, I have to show you where the mop is.”

Alfred let his childish act drop, jumping to his feet without any help. He turned and smiled sweetly, a hint of darkness underneath it. "No prob, bro!" Alfred laughed. "Hey, you mad bro? Mad ya got stuck with me?"

Miguel frowned slightly at the American before pulling a more exhausted face. “Well, it’s not as if it’s completely unexpected. I mean, he’s the captain; it’s natural that he’d delegate, but I’m the first mate! I mean, you were a first mate, is training slaves the job of a first mate? No! But I can’t expect Toni to think like that.” With a sigh, Miguel walked behind Alfred and untied his hands. “There, so if you fall you don’t break your nose. And don’t bother trying anything stupid. You’re unarmed, and if you aren’t afraid of punishment you’d receive yourself, know that we can find someone else to punish in your place if we have to,” Miguel said this almost mechanically, as if he’d had to make such a speech before. Then he gestured for Alfred to follow him and headed to a corner of the deck with a crate tucked into it.

Alfred snorted. The only other two people in the world living that he cared about the most where Peter and Arthur. Luckily, they were on another ship. "Must hate your job," Alfred chuckled, following Miguel with ease, as though he were used to chains. "Artie ALWAYS gave me my rightful power, and the crew never fucked with me, because Artie's an animal when he's pissed. Guess it comes from being raised by abusive older brothers."

Alfred chuckled sadly, his blue eyes softening. "My own brother is gone, so I can't remember what it felt like." After a moment, Alfred had realized all that he had given away, making him smack his hands over his mouth. "You heard nothing!" Alfred hissed. "Fuck! Artie's gonna kick my ass to the moon and back!"

Miguel gave Alfred a backwards glance and shrugged. “Well what’ve you told me? That my job sucks? Knew it. That yours was better? Figures. That your captain gets mad? HA! If you want to see mad...” Miguel shook his head. “Toni is usually carefree but if you push hard enough...” Miguel paused and shuddered. “Anyway. Otherwise you’ve said that your captain had abusive older brothers and yours is dead. I know that you care about your captain, perhaps like a brother, so you likely feel safe as he’s on another ship and untouchable. But I’m sure you don’t want to make us fed up to the point we just sell you off with the other Englishmen so that you probably won’t see him again, right?” Miguel left that thought hanging as he opened the crate in front of him, revealing a mop, a bucket, a broom and rags. “Here are the cleaning supplies. I expect that you know how to use them.”

Alfred mulled over all that Miguel had told him, a thoughtful look on his face. Then he smiled and grabbed the cleaning supplies. "In that case, I gotta be SO bad at cleaning, I'll get sent to the next ship!" Alfred grinned widely, completely ignoring Miguel's warning. He swiftly turned and tried taking off, but promptly fell on his face. "My leg! My leg!"

“What?” Miguel walked over and looked at the flailing body. “You didn’t even hit your leg, idiot. Get up. Anyway, if you don’t clean properly you won’t be sent to the next ship, you- with your boyish good looks- will likely get sold to some pervert or else a brothel when we get to port. If you’re lucky, or unlucky I guess, someone might decide they prefer you for your muscles and use you chained up somewhere as hard manual labour. Kind of like we’re doing, but hell, you could be down a mine shaft. The point is that it would suck. Now get up, man up, and swab the fucking deck. It’s not that hard, and if you do a good job you get to eat tonight. If you do a poor job you can go hungry. If you don’t do it, you get no food and also ten lashes with a whip. Sound fair to you?”

"But I hurt my leg," Alfred pouted, quickly jumping to his feet. "Phf, not like I haven't been in labour before." With a huff, he walked off, perfectly able to walk in the chains. "I demand a raise!"

Miguel frowned, unsure exactly what to make of this new slave. Still, if he screwed up enough for a few punishments he should quiet down fast enough. “Just make sure the work gets done!” Miguel shouted before heading to help take inventory of the loot from the English ship. He stopped his march however as a head of brown hair with a wayward curl and a smiling face attached to it ran up toward him.

“Ve~ Miguel! How did the looting go? Lovino said you’d all get yourselves killed, but I think he was trying to worry me for no reason... oh well, did you get anything good?” The man spoke fast with an Italian accent, looking unreasonably excited.

“Feliciano, what are you-? Antonio told you to stay in the kitchen until he went and got you! Shouldn’t you be cooking anyway?”

Feliciano pouted. “But, I already knew you were back from the noise ve~. And dinner’s just simmering now; I have time to see- oh who’s this?” The Italian raced toward Alfred like a shot. “ _Ciao_! I’m Feliciano, the cook of the ship! Who are you? Are you new? I haven’t seen you before, so you must be!”

Alfred turned, his retort to Miguel having died on his lips when he saw the Italian. He blinked and smiled.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones," he said brightly. "I am indeed new! Just been recruited from Cap Artie's ship!"

“That’s great!” Feliciano said brightly, “Ve~ you’ll like it here! Everyone’s really friendly, and I make sure the food is always very good too! I hope you like pasta~ Oh, the pasta! I have to go stir it, I hope you get settled in well and tell me all about your first day later! Byyye!” With this enthusiastic greeting, Feliciano hurried back toward the door leading under the ship, only to run smack into a nearly identical boy. Although the boy he ran into was slightly taller, with slightly darker hair and complexion. He also wore a scowl as dark as Feliciano’s smile was bright. 

“You _bastardos_! What’s the matter with you making so much noise up here? I’m trying to take a _siesta_ damn it but I guess you don’t give a damn about that! Feliciano, what’re you doing up here? Go finish the food or it’s going to burn!”

Feliciano gasped. “No it won’t! I’m always careful with pasta, ve~ Oh! Here, you have to meet Alfred! He’s new to the ship! Say hi!”

“What? I don’t want to say hi to- FELI!” the other Italian protested in vain as Feliciano dragged him over to Alfred as well.

“ _Ciao_ again, Alfred! Here, this is my tough big brother Lovino! He seems like a jerk, but he’s actually just really shy!” Feliciano gushed. Lovino’s cheeks lit up red as tomatoes.

“ _C-chigi!_ Don’t say that! I’m not shy!” Even as he spoke, Lovino’s eyes were searching for an escape route. Somehow they made their way down and saw Alfred’s ankles. Lovino scoffed and hit Feliciano over the head. “Idiot! He wasn’t recruited; he was captured as a slave!”

“Ow!” Feliciano held his head and whined. “I-I’m sorry Lovino! But... really? Oh, I see the chains now. Well... even so, that’s fine! I mean, that’s how me and Lovino started out on the ship too, but now we really love it here!”

“Speak for yourself, bastard!”

Alfred blinked, staring at the two Italians curiously. He smiled and ruffled both their hair. "You two are cute," Alfred said simply, "As much as I'd LOVE to say and talk with you guys, I need to go check something.”

Seeing the contrasting smiling and frowning faces had reminded him of Arthur and Peter. Being reminded of them, made him remember his promise to Peter.

“Oh, okay! _Ciao_!” Feliciano waved happily before heading back to the door heading below deck, passing Miguel who was busy with the loot. Lovino, however, remained and glared at Alfred as he had been doing since the second his hair had been ruffled, though his blush was diminishing now.

“What do you mean you have something to check, _bastardo_? You just got here, and it looks like you’re supposed to be doing chores or something!” Lovino’s cheeks puffed out.  
Alfred smiled and ruffled Lovino's hair again. "Ya know, you remind me so much of Artie!" he laughed. "But still, don't trip, bro! My business is my business!"

“Quit doing that, bastard!” Lovino snapped, covering his head with his hands. “Anyway, if you’re doing something weird then... well... _chigi_ , whatever, not like I’ll stop you... Burn the damn ship down, it’s that stupid tomato bastard’s fault leaving you unsupervised anyway. I’m leaving.” This huffed out; the Italian turned on his heel and stormed away after his brother, leaving Alfred to his own devices. Alfred smiled and began his work, slowing making his way up to the deck to mop there.

A commotion from the ship next-door made Alfred look up from cleaning. A flash of blonde hair running across the other ship’s deck made Alfred smile. Peter was twisting and dodging the hands of the French crew expertly. Alfred watched, his smile growing wider as he watched one of the Frenchmen trip in his attempt to catch the quick English boy. Even if he they were trapped in such a situation, Alfred knew that he and the British brothers would give these pirates a good bit of hell before the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH. 2 TRANSLATIONS (I only translate what I don't think is obvious)
> 
> el Tomate Hermosa – (Spanish) The Beautiful Tomato


	3. Captain to Captive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur awakens on Francis' ship and learns to fear his fate.

### 

Chapter 3: Captain to Captive

Arthur groaned and squeezed his eyes tighter shut in an attempt to lessen the throbbing in the back of his head. He tried to move his hands and discovered that they were tied to something. His green eyes flew open as soon as he noticed this, and he quickly scanned his surroundings. He was in a large, luxurious cabin. Drapes and lace hung over almost every piece of plush furniture, all of which were quite feminine-looking in the gentleman’s opinion. A scent of roses hung in the air, making the Englishman wrinkle his nose. Normally he liked the scent of roses, but this was rather jarring as he wasn’t expecting it and it overly heavy as well. He stared up at his hands to see them tied to a metal hook that splintered out of the wall behind him. Arthur shifted his legs to find them tied as well, and oddly enough rubbing skin together. His face flushed a deep red as he realized he was in his birthday suit, lying on a soft plush couch, tied up with his hands above his head and useless.

"BLOODY HELL?" The Brit began to savagely struggle, trying to get up high enough to bite through the ropes.

A chuckle came from across the room where Francis sat on his bed just out of Arthur’s line of vision, dressed in a long blue silk robe. "So the stubborn _rosbif_ has awakened. I will admit, in sleep you are much more tolerable, though the eyebrows are still rather monstrous. And you snore," Francis laughed again, though it was an insincere sound now. "I would stop struggling if I were you _mon rosbif_ ," the Frenchman rose and strode toward the struggling man, grabbing his chin in his fist and looking into his eyes with the greatest disdain. "Unless of course you want your son to be given to the crew? Or perhaps have his throat slit?"

Arthur blinked, thoroughly confused. After a few seconds it dawned on him, his heart stopping at the thought. "Peter," he whispered, biting his lip before sighing in defeat. "Anything for my brother; I'll do anything within reason."

" _Votre frere_?" Francis asked curiously before a Cheshire cat smile stretched across his face. " _Oui_ , I suspected you would do as much after you lost all reason and attacked my dear Prussian friend. Now!" He rubbed his hands together and licked at his lips. "The question is what shall I do to you first? I- wait," Francis frowned and looked back at Arthur's face. "Within reason? So what wouldn't you do I wonder, _rosbif_?" A finger slowly traced its way down Arthur's body, stopping just short of his manhood. "Oh, but don't spoil the surprise, I'm sure I'll find out myself!" Arthur glared, willing his heart to stop pounding. The man was going to fucking TOUCH him! He barred his teeth.

Francis leaned down far over his captive, but a sudden rapping at the door made him pause. "Ah, always interrupted before the good part!" With heavy sigh Francis righted himself and stepped back from Arthur, gesturing to the door with a bored wave of his hand. " _Entrez_!" 

The door opened to reveal a boy with big violet eyes and long blonde hair that sported a flyaway curl peeking around the corner. Arthur’s eyes widened as he noticed how similar the boy’s face looked to the face of his first mate. "Um, _m-mon capitaine_..."

"Ah, _mon_ Mathieu! Remember, I told you to call me _Papa_!" Francis' demeanour changed instantly as a genuine smile flooded his features and he raced to the door to completely block Arthur from view. "What is wrong, _mon petit chou_? Is that slave I gave you being as disgusting as I suspected an Englishman would be?" the Frenchman's voice turned serious. "You did not let him cook anything for you, oui?"

"Um, _oui, P-Papa_... erm... i-it's not... I mean... he... I-I can't exactly... find him..."

Francis stared at Mathieu for a moment as Arthur smiled; glad his brother was a slippery little bastard. Then a look of anger passed over Francis’ eyes and he sent a dark glance over his shoulder at Arthur tied up on his couch. " _Zut alore_..." he hissed.”Fine. I will help look, I trust you have others searching already?"

" _Oui, Papa_."

" _Bon_. Now stay... ah wait, do not look, _petit_!" Francis hurried to his bed, grabbed the top cover off of it and flung it over Arthur's body, proceeding to grab and pull on his usual clothes and belt, holding his sword and gun as Mathieu kept his eyes shut tight. Arthur sighed thankfully using his teeth to adjust the blanket correctly over him.

"Now Mathieu, you must stay here to be sure your little slave doesn't come trying to help now, _oui_? He cannot be too far; we are on a ship after all." With that said, the Frenchman darted from the room, leaving Mathieu to look at the captive with wide eyes. He swallowed uncomfortably.

"Um, _b-bonjour, Anglais_." He said finally, walking hesitantly toward the tied man. Arthur glanced up darkly when the boy addressed him. In French no less. Although he would never admit it, he did understand the Frog language. However, he pretended not to.

"I will be spoken to in the Queens English, boy," Arthur hissed, quirking his head before smiling darkly. "So Peter escaped, hmm? Not good. The boy enjoys revenge, honestly something I regret to inform I taught him."

Mathieu swallowed and closed his eyes to think for a moment before continuing on in English tinged with a French accent that wasn't quite as heavy as Francis'. "In... English, yes? S-sorry, I usually only... only speak to the captain and crew, so I'm used to... sorry, i-it was automatic." Mathieu swallowed again and bit his lip, looking down at his shoes. "A-as for Peter, um... well I don't think he's really escaped, but he's hiding somewhere, I think. Unless he fell overboard... but I doubt that’s happened!" Mathieu waved his hands as if horrified he would suggest such a thing to Arthur. "He's fine... probably fine... somewhere. Though when he's found the captain will probably p-punish him... um... that's why I told him not to do that... but I'm not sure if he heard me..." Throughout this speech Mathieu’s voice had gotten progressively softer until he was whispering to his shoes. It was clear that apart from being unused to speaking in English, he also wasn't used to speaking to people he didn't know.

"Boy, I was beaten if I mumbled, speak up!" Arthur snapped sharply, twisting his hands and managing to loosen the ropes. A little more and he'd be free!

"Eeep!" Mathieu flushed and looked sharply away from Arthur, whimpering slightly. "Um, I-I'm sorry, I-I think Peter is okay, that's all!" Mathieu chanced a glance at the captive and froze as he saw the ropes loosen around his wrists. "Oh! P-please stop, eh!" Mathieu stammered, but at the same time his eyes hardened and his hand darted to his side, drawing the small dagger Francis had given to him to use in emergencies. "I-I can't let you escape... sorry..." Mathieu’s voice softened a bit again, but not so much to be unintelligible. "I know what he's going to do to you and I don't really agree but... but I can't let down my captain." Mathieu cringed slightly, "I'm so sorry."

Arthur smiled sadly, bringing down his now free hands to rub at the rope burns. "Sorry, but I'd rather take the punishment for Peter than have to sit here and wonder," he replied, easily untying the rope around his legs. "I'm not going to escape if I see that it'll harm Peter's well being," Arthur added, searching through the drawers and pulling on a pair of pants in front of the French boy. Mathieu moved more to block the door as he watched Arthur rise from the couch and begin searching for clothes. His face flushed and he made sure not to let his eyes wander below Arthur's waist until the pants were on, but made no move to look away completely. "I just can't stand the thought of someone harming him when I could've been beaten instead." He looked up at Mathieu, sadness in his eyes.

"Boy, let me through peacefully," Arthur went on, gently. "I will return to being his little tied up pet if it saves my brother, but I need to make Peter safe. He's my only reason for living." 

"I... I understand that you want to protect your brother but..." Mathieu paused and bit his lip, glancing behind him at the door. "I... y-you... what are you going to do exactly, if I let you pass? I-I mean you say you want to make him safe but... w-what do you mean to do?"

"If your father has found him then I will try to take any beating or punishment he wants that he would've originally inflicted onto Peter," Arthur replied in a steady voice, "I will not harm the bastard, not if he really is your father. I don't harm people with children or families." Arthur's green eyes suddenly darkened, a bloodthirsty glint behind malicious thoughts reflected in his eyes. "But mark my words; if he has hurt Peter, then I will not hesitate to kill. As I said before, Peter is my reason for staying alive."

Mathieu opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it and shut his mouth again. After a moment he began to speak with care. "I... do not think that my father will punish him too severely. He still wants to use him as a means to control you, I think. But... but if you try to interfere he would probably make it worse for you. Knowing... knowing this, I will leave it up to you." Mathieu frowned, but moved out of the way of the door. As Arthur made to pass him, the boy reached out to touch his arm lightly. "Please don't tell the captain that I allowed you to leave... if anything, tell him you tricked me somehow, or overpowered me. He would believe that. But please... he can't know that I would disobey him this way."

"Of course," Arthur replied, feeling an overwhelming and unexplainable amount of protectiveness for the boy. Arthur pushed open the door, blinking as the sunlight blinded him for a moment.

"LET ME GO, STUPID FROG!" 

Arthur immediately turned after hearing his brother's voice. The French captain was dragging him by the collar, the boy fighting furiously. With renewed fury, Arthur approached them, his green eyes set blindly on only Peter.

"Arthur!" Peter cried, seeing his brother approaching. Francis froze in shock as Arthur, seemingly from nowhere, snatched up his brother and hugged him, heedless of the pirate captain still holding onto the boy.

"Thank god you’re safe!" Arthur whispered, tears of joy welling in his eyes. "I thought I’d lost you!"

The Frenchman however, as said, still had a firm hold of Peter's collar and dragged the boy backwards, quickly putting a knife tight to the boy's throat as another sickly smile twisted on his lips. On the deck there was brief chaos as members of the French crew made to move and re-capture Arthur, but Francis barked a sharp word for them to hold back, for now.

"So, _mon rosbif_ has escape from his bonds? I must admit, that is impressive seeing as I tied those knots myself. But more importantly..." the knife pressed harder against Peter's skin and the smile completely disappeared into a deep glare. "Have you harmed _mon petit_ Mathieu to reach us? Because if you have, I can assure you that your death will neither be quick nor merciful and you will regret-"

The Frenchman was cut off by Mathieu himself, who ran up beside them. "I-I... h-he slipped the ropes and got past me, b-but I'm not hurt, I-I swear!" Mathieu said in a rushed voice, breathing hard from his sprint. Francis' grip loosened slightly, the knife not pressing as hard now.

"Oh, _bon_ ," the smile was back and he turned it toward Arthur now. "Well in that case, you can see that your brother is fine. He seems to have stolen some food and was hiding in the galley like a gluttonous pig, though what can I expect from _l'Anglais_? Still, he will have to undergo a punishment. How else shall we train dogs, _non_? Before that I expect you to march straight into the hands of my crew to be put into chains since ropes are clearly not enough for you. I always thought _les Anglais_ were rather kinky..." A loud laugh resounded from the men around them, though Mathieu gave only a small, weak looking smile that was quick to vanish.

"Save it, Wanker," Arthur hissed, green eyes flashing, although a hint of worry was in them. "Let Peter go. I beg of you, punish me instead of my brother! I will comply with any of your wishes so long as Peter is not harmed at all."

"Art, no!" Peter cried, continuing his struggles to reach his older brother. "Arthur, please! Please don't do it!"

"Silence, Peter!" Arthur snapped, the boy immediately settling down. "God allow, I will deal with you later." 

Peter's eyes welled with tears, hanging his head in dejection with a small, "Sorry, Arthur." Arthur turned his attention back to the Frenchman. 

"Well?" he asked impatiently. "Do we have a bloody deal? Punish me and me alone for his crimes. Yes or no?"

Francis stared at Arthur dumbstruck for a moment. Then a low chuckle rose to his throat and from it into full blown laughter. " _Oui_ , I see! _Tres bon, tres bon_ , I should've known..." With a sigh, Francis released Peter and instead moved fast to grab Arthur up by his hair. He then looked at the smaller boy who was shaking in his own rage. "Now, _petit Anglais_ , I would suggest that you also receive chains... Mathieu will go and fetch a collar and leash, _non_? That ought to help keep him in line."

"Er," Mathieu looked uncertain for a moment, but ultimately gave a nod of understanding. " _Oui, mon capitaine_." He hurried off.

"And for now, I will have Claude hold onto the brat so he can watch as his intended punishment is performed. After all, he can hardly learn without even seeing the results of his actions. And someone fetch me a chair!" There were titters heard from the men as a chair was brought and a large man with dark hair and a short beard stepped up to grab Peter firmly by the shoulders. Setting the chair in the middle of the circle that had been formed, Francis led Arthur quickly over before sitting in the chair himself wearing a very perverted smirk. "Now you will lie across my lap like the English dog you are and receive the punishment befitting a misbehaving child, _oui_?" Arthur growled, but hung his head and obeyed, leaning slowly and finally lying across Francis’ lap in that humiliating position.

"Arthur, stop!" Peter cried, struggling. "Stop! Please I'm sorry just stop this! Don't listen!"

"I said quiet, Peter!" Arthur hissed, bracing himself. Nothing the Frenchman could do would be worse than what his oldest brother Scott had done to him when they were children.

Francis' grin widened as the Englishman obediently laid himself across his knees. "Ah, you are used to this position. Were you a naughty child, _rosbif_?" With a chuckle, Francis roughly pulled down the pants Arthur had put on, revealing his bare ass to the crew. He raised his arm and with full force sent it smacking down, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing for a minute before loud jeers and hollers of laughter rained from the men. Francis merely giggled daintily before sending down another full powered swat and then another, eventually enflaming the skin into a bright cherry red. "Ah, isn't that a much nicer colour? Far better than that ghastly pale skin you _Anglais_ usually have, _non_?" Arthur glared at nothing in general; his face red and an irritated look in his eyes. Peter watched with mild worry, his heart thudding, waiting for Arthur's insane side to crack through.

"HEY FRENCHIE! YOU SUCK!" 

Arthur inwardly groaned, his eyebrow twitching as Alfred came into view from the other ship. "Lord, I'm going to kill him," Arthur mumbled, wincing when he was smacked again.

" _Quoi_?" Francis paused mid-strike to see Alfred on the Spanish ship sailing next to him, looking rather angry. He snorted, gave Arthur one more hard swat for good measure, and pushed him off his lap onto the deck. "There, you’re finished." By this point Mathieu had returned, but made sure not to watch Arthur's humiliation as he handed Claude the collar and chain link leash he had been asked to fetch. Claude nodded and with some difficulty from the struggling child managed to lock the collar around his neck. He then put the end of the chain meaningfully into Mathieu’s hand and the blonde viewed it with something akin to horror.

Placing a foot deftly onto Arthur's back to keep him down, Francis brazenly called back to Alfred. "Oh but I assure you, _mon rosbif_ will be the one doing most of sucking later, though I admit I may do some myself if I feel he deserves a reward!" The grin he gave Arthur now looked almost feral. But then his head snapped up. "Where is Antonio?"

" _Estoy aquí_!" Antonio ran quickly down his ship and smacked Alfred hard on the back of his head. " _Estúpido_! I told you to swab the deck, not insult _mis amigos_!"

"You are letting him swab the deck already?" Francis asked, sounding surprised.

" _Si,_ Don't worry though, his legs are chained together so it's not as if he can do much more than walk in careful steps if he wants to keep balance on the ship!" Antonio now swung a friendly arm around Alfred's shoulders, smiling in way that seemed far more bright and natural than either of his friends could pull off.

" _Non, non, mon ami_!" Francis shook his head, "I trusted you to have precautions, I only wondered why you would have him on deck when he could be in your cabin pleasing you, as for an _Anglais_ he is surprisingly good looking. And he has a look of innocence, I thought you liked that!"

Antonio gave a horrified expression. " _¿Qué? Nunca_! I told you I would never do such a thing, I have my Lovi! And his brother!"

" _COSA_?" A loud banshee-like screech rang across both ship decks causing most to wince. Antonio however looked downright terrified.

"L-Lovi!" He squeaked as a slender, brunette Italian man with murder in his eyes suddenly raced to where they were standing and fiercely head butted Antonio in the back so hard he hit the ship railing and threatened to go over it if he hadn't managed to catch himself. " _Mio dio_..." 

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE _MIO FRATELLO_? YOU SAID YOU NEVER DID ANYTHING TO HIM, _BASTARDO_!"

"Lovi! L-Lovino I really didn't, I only mean he's innocent and fun to hug, o-of course I never-"

"THEN DON'T INCLUDE HIM IN THOSE KINDS OF SENTENCES, _BASTARDO_! DAMN IT, IT'S BAD ENOUGH WHAT YOU DO TO ME, LEAVE _MIO FRATELLO_ ALONE!"

"Um, a-aren't you afraid you're going to wake him up? Th-this is his _siesta_ time you know and-"

Lovino sighed heavily and pressed his face into the palm of his hand. "Feliciano sleeps like a rock. You know that."

"Ah, _si_ I do..."

On his ship, Francis coughed loudly to summon the attention of his crew again. "Well, not that this wasn't fun, but I have some... business to attend to in my cabin, _oui_?" His boot pressed harder on Arthur's back as he smirked. Then Arthur rolled over, knocking the Frenchman down. He pulled up his pants and raced over to Peter, wrapping the boy up in another hug.

"Stay strong," Arthur whispered, squeezing him tightly. "Never surrender, never be outdone."

"Arthur, please don't," Peter sobbed, clinging to Arthur's neck. "I'm scared for you!"

Arthur smiled, kissing Peter's forehead. "You are my life, my reason for living," Arthur reminded. "Stay strong, stay safe."

Francis groaned and got up from the ground with a fierce glare, marching over to Arthur and nearly ripping him and Peter apart. "I did not say you could get up, English dog!" This said, he gave Arthur a swift kick to the side before hauling him up and over his shoulder. "Now then, Mathieu, I expect you to train the English puppy to be a perfect servant and slave to this ship, understood?"

" _Oui Papa_..." Mathieu whispered, fiddling with the leash in his hands.

"And should he try to escape again, he will face punishment himself. From you."

"F-from me?" Mathieu squeaked.

" _Oui_. And I will watch to be sure it is done properly. If you are not able to punish him he will not respect you. Now then," Francis slapped the thigh of the squirming Englishman on his shoulder and began striding purposefully toward his cabin to a chorus of wolf whistles from the crew who began to disperse back to their posts. Arthur screamed in fury, turning his eyes onto Mathieu, his green eyes promising pain.

"Arthur!" Peter cried, choking himself as he tried to reach out for his brother. "ARTHUR!"

Arthur kicked the French man in the gut, struggling and reaching for his little brother. "Peter I swear, I will free us! Even if I die I will free us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH.3 TRANSLATIONS
> 
>  
> 
> Estoy aquí - (Spanish) I'm here
> 
> COSA? - (Italian) WHAT?


	4. Fall to Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the smut begins. Arthur faces his new demon.

****

### Chapter 4: Fall to Sin

****

Francis had managed to ignore the pain in his gut until he had re-entered the cabin and thrown Arthur roughly back onto the couch. He then clutched at his stomach as he stumbled back to the door to lock it. "Ow, you _Anglais_ are so..." Francis took a moment to heave a bit and straighten, glaring at his captive. "I do not mind a bit of rough play in the bedroom _rosbif_ , but kicking is not encouraged. At least not if you wish for your _petit frere_ to remain intact, which I assume you do, _non_?" Arthur swallowed, his face turning a deep red.

"For my brother's safely, what do I need to do?" Arthur asked, his voice quivering as he gripped the sheets that were still on the couch tightly in his hands. God he hoped it wasn't what he was thinking. He was still a virgin, and a couple of his crewmates had described the excruciating pain before. But for Peter, he'd do anything.

The Frenchman seemed to have gotten over his pain enough and a lewd smirk settled on his face as he strode up quickly to Arthur, backing him down onto the couch and taking his chin roughly in his hand, using the other to brush the Englishman's messy bangs from him face. "You can begin, I think, by giving me a kiss. And then you may remove those pants you took from my drawer. If you cannot guess what I intend for you then the English must be as stupid as they are tasteless." With a laugh, Francis released Arthur's chin but did not draw back from his close proximity, instead merely looking expectant. Arthur's face turned a brighter red, his heart beating fast and every cell in his body screaming for him to run. Arthur closed his eyes, willing his pulse down.

"For Peter," Arthur whispered, mostly to himself. Trembling slightly, Arthur gave the Frenchman a soft, nervous kiss, unsure and fearful. He pulled back quickly, his face reddening even more.

The Frenchman giggled. "As I thought, you are much cuter when embarrassed, and you tremble like a baby rabbit! Ah, that's perfect, better than a dog." Francis leaned in to Arthur's ear, his warm breath tickling it as he whispered, " _Mon lapin_."

Smiling and seeming satisfied with the new pet name, Francis drew back and surveyed the terrified Englishman more fully. It was strange, how his personality would drift from angry, to insulting, to lewd and now, playful. He almost seemed endeared to Arthur at the moment, though that attitude could seemingly change in an instant. "Now then, _mon lapin effrayé_ , I believe it is time to remove your leggings, _oui_? Oh and I must ask because your behaviour is just precious, are you perhaps a virgin?" Francis' tongue wetted his lips as the thought tantalized him. Arthur's eyes widened, shaking his head.

"Not a virgin," he mumbled his lie; his green eyes shifting away in embarrassment, toying with the tassel on one of the Frenchman’s throw pillows before looking up at him with an irritated glare. "Nor am I your rabbit, you frog!" 

Francis chuckled and tucked his own hands into the waistband of Arthur's leggings, pulling them swiftly off in his impatience, forcing Arthur flat on his back in the process. "Perhaps not a virgin with women, but here?" Francis deftly lifted Arthur's legs in one arm so he could trace the puckered hole in Arthur's backside. "Well, I shall be able to tell soon enough, _non_?"

Arthur cried out, his face heating redder. He trembled, swiftly shaking his head and whimpering as the light tracing slowly began to arouse him even though he willed it down. "Frog!" He said half-heartedly, too busy with trying to clamp his legs shut and squirm away. Arthur's slight arousal was not unnoticed by the Frenchman and the pirate ran his fingers from the anus along the skin all the way to the tip of the Brit's hardening manhood, fingers ghosting over it at first before giving it a lightly pressured and well practiced stroke. 

"You know, _mon lapin_ , it might be best to just lay back and enjoy yourself. After all, I am known as a very experienced and thorough lover, the working ladies have all agreed I am their favourite customer and the men too." Winking a shining blue eye, Francis reached up to pinch Arthur's nipple harshly. "Though you cannot expect me to be gentle with you, of course."

Arthur tossed his head back, biting his lips tightly. As the Frenchman's fingers ghosted over his arousal, he whimpered yet again. He knew he was becoming harder under those fingers, considering he had NEVER been touched in such a way, nor had ever touched himself seeing as his brothers always told him such a thing would shorten his life and grow hair on his hands. Not that he'd tell the frog that. Arthur let out a strangled yelp, trying to squirm away as the Frenchman pinched him.

"Bloody hell, stop!" Arthur whimpered. "It feels weird!"

"Oh trust me _mon lapin_ , you will grow to like it in time, perhaps even beg for it. Hmm... I do like that idea..." Francis grinned and went back to stroking Arthur's manhood. As it grew more erect he felt his own pants tighten. "Ah, but hold that thought, _cheri_." Francis moved away from Arthur to begin stripping off his own clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor. He was sure to kick his sword and gun a good distance away before returned to Arthur, this time grabbing his cock tightly and rubbing it with full measure, leaning down carefully and pressing the Englishman into a fierce kiss, forcing his tongue into the man's mouth and plundering it with abandon.

Arthur moaned, unable to hold back the pleasure he felt. His body reacted excitedly, thrusting into his captor’s hand and his tongue shying away from the invader. Arthur moaned again, closing his eyes. God damn him, but it felt good. Smiling into the kiss, Francis finally drew back, a thread of saliva connecting the two before Francis spoke and broke it. 

"So, _le lapin est corné, non_?" The Frenchman smirked and stroked Arthur's cheek with his fingertips before placing them in front of his mouth. "I would suggest you get these nice and wet if you want as little pain as possible, _oui_?" Arthur blushed and stared at the Frenchman’s fingers with curious eyes before cautiously taking them in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around them, nibbling gently every once in awhile. Once they where slicked well enough, he pulled away.

"It...It doesn’t really go up the ass, does it?" Arthur asked, a bit of fear in his voice.

Francis tossed the sweaty hair from his eyes in a way that would make young women swoon, and flashed a debonair smile. "But of course, unless you are hiding a vagina between your legs where else can it go?" Eyes glistening, Francis raised Arthur's legs again, this time onto his shoulders and placed his slicked middle finger against Arthur's hole. "Though as you are clearly a virgin with such questions, this will probably hurt." Francis then began to steadily push inside, almost wincing at how tight it was. "Ah, for once the tight ass of the English will be put to good use!" With a sudden yelp, Arthur shoved the Frenchman with enough force to topple the man over.

"THAT'S NOT GOING UP MY ASS, YOU BLOODY WANKER!" Arthur stood and practically flew to the door, banging on it desperately. "Stay the fuck away from me, you Frog!" Arthur hissed over his shoulder, glaring at the captain. "I will fucking maim you!" Francis groaned and pulled himself upright, glaring at the door. Thank god he'd locked it, though it might've been amusing to watch his captive to run across the deck in the nude. Oh well, thoughts for another day.

"Ah but my finger has already been there so we can hardly stop now, _non_?" Francis quickly strode to the Englishman and grabbed his wrist, leaning in so their faces were close again. "It would be a shame when you're clearly still aroused." The Frenchman's other hand went down to clasp around Arthur's manhood. Arthur gasped, but bit his lips, willing his arousal and blush away. He pushed the man again, racing away and managing to squeeze under the bed.

"Thank god for my height," he murmured to himself. "Bloody wanker."

Francis pursed his lips a moment before he seemed to decide this game of chase was cute. “Oh _mon lapin_ , are you now playing hard to get? _Comment adorable_! But you don’t have far to run _cheri_...” Striding to the bed, the Frenchman got down on his hands and knees and looked underneath at Arthur’s scowling face. “Now, now, such a look may suit you but I’m afraid your pretty green eyes are being too obscured by those grotesque caterpillars above them... honestly we will have to get those taken care of. Come out _petit lapin_...” Francis stuck his hand under the bed and began to grope around, trying to grab hold of Arthur in some way, be it his arm, leg, hair, whatever was in reach. Arthur scowled, biting the Frenchman’s hand when it wrapped around his upper arm.

"Sodding git!"

Francis hissed and pulled his arm out to inspect the damage. Luckily it hadn’t quite broken the skin but it certainly left a clear impression of Arthur’s jaws. Sending a quick glare under the bed, Francis got to his feet and proceeded to sit on the bed, effectively causing it to sag even further into the small space beneath. It was a sure way to squeeze the life out of anyone hidden under it. “I would beg mercy if I were you lapin, or else you are likely to pass out. Either way I will have my way with you, you know.” 

Arthur coughed and scurried out from under the bed, rushing away. "Bloody stupid wanking frog!" he hissed.

“’Wanking’?” Francis’ eyebrow rose, but he smirked to see Arthur’s naked ass running across the room. “I assure you, I’ve never had the need to do such a thing, there’s always someone willing in my bed, whether they began that way or not...” Francis got off the bed and moved toward Arthur, herding him into a corner and standing close enough to prevent escape, but not close enough to be in striking distance should Arthur begin to punch or kick. “I am surprised though, I’ll admit, at this display. I thought you said you would do anything to protect your _petit frere_ , is your virginity really such a sacrifice? Or perhaps in your naive panic you have forgotten him?” 

Arthur huffed, banging his head against the wall. "Fuck!" Arthur growled. "Peter or my morals? Fuck!" He banged his head against the wall again before sighing. "Fuck morals. Who needs them?"

Francis clapped his hands, looking pleased. “ _Oui_ , spoken like a true man of pleasure! I trust that you will be co-operative? Believe me; it is not as bad as you think.” The Frenchman paused a moment. “Well... perhaps the first time may be. But over time it will be better, and trust me, you’ll have a good while to get used to it. Unless I get bored, I suppose... well no matter! Shall we return to the couch, _lapin_?” Francis offered a hand to the Englishman, as if he needed to be led like a dainty maiden.

"You’re still a sodding git," Arthur snapped, brushing past the Frenchman. "And a bloody frog!"

“What is that saying? Sticks and stones, _cheri_ ,” Francis followed Arthur back to the couch and was quick to pounce of the Englishman, pinning him back to the cushions again. Arthur shivered, but the Frenchman kept talking. “I will not be letting you get away again, though I’ll admit our little game of chase was rather arousing...” Francis ground his crotch hard into Arthur’s to prove his point. “Now will you be a _bon lapin_ and let me prepare you properly, or would you prefer to be taken dry? I personally would prefer the former since the other way isn’t particularly comfortable to either party, but if you insist on being difficult I will have no choice and believe me,” Francis leaned in close, “It will hurt you FAR worse than it will hurt me.” He punctuated this threat with a nibble on Arthur’s ear.

"Then fucking do it already!" the Briton hissed, pinpricks of arousal shooting up his spine.

“ _Avec plaisir_.” Francis drew back and surveyed Arthur with thought. “You know, this might be easier if you lay on your stomach. Turn over for me.”

Arthur growled. He glared at the man above him before blushing deep red and rolling onto his stomach. "Sodding git."

Francis did not reply, instead wetting his own fingers with saliva, spitting not sucking, and pushed one deep inside of Arthur’s hole, moving it in and out and prodded around until he deemed it loose enough and added a second finger, scissoring apart and now actively looking to find the bundle of nerves that would likely cause the Englishman to blush far darker. Arthur gasped and bit his lip, pain shooting up his spine. He made a small sound of discomfort, trembling slightly.

Frowning, Francis scissored his fingers once more before adding a third and wondering if that might be too much, spreading them out a few times before thrusting in again. He had better reach with three fingers and tried harder to find Arthur’s prostate. Arthur only bit his lips tighter while he clenched and unclenched his fists. Suddenly, pleasure surged through his body, making him whine. His eyes widened, realizing what he had done.

“Hon hon, is that your spot, _lapin_?” Francis chuckled and aimed his thrusts in that direction, smirking at the lewd noises Arthur made as he writhed. The Englishman mewled as the man above him repeatedly jabbed that spot, making him see stars. Noises of pleasure seeped past his lips, all pain erased. 

“My, you seem to be enjoying this. How slutty of you, I thought you British had more control over yourselves. But no matter, are you still in any pain?” Arthur shook his head, answering the Frog's question. Francis smiled. “ _Bon_ ,” withdrawing his fingers, Francis actually got off the couch and hurried to fetch a small bottle from his dresser. “Now I don’t have as much of this as I’d like, this being short notice, but since you’re being such a good boy I will use it.” Pouring some lubrication into his hand, the Frenchman slicked up his member before spreading Arthur’s cheeks and positioning himself at the Englishman’s entrance. “I would recommend keeping yourself as relaxed as possible, _cheri_.” With this announced, Francis nudged the head of his cock inside, pausing to judge Arthur’s reaction. 

Arthur's face was blushing; his heart thumping loudly. He whined softly as he felt the tip of the other man's cock enter him, forcing his body to relax despite its trembles even as intense pain shot through him. Rubbing Arthur’s inner thighs for a moment to help his captive relax, Francis slid himself in further. He gasped, the tight passage around him squeezing in just the right way. If Arthur had been more agitated and less prepared it might’ve been a bit painful even for the Frenchman but no, this was perfect as far as Francis was concerned. Sighing blissfully, the Frenchman fully sheathed himself, making Arthur cry out in pain again at the deep penetration. “ _Cheri_ , you need to tell me when the pain dulls and I will start moving, I don’t want to tear anything on your first time, after all.”

Arthur, on the other end of things, felt as though his whole body was going to break and fall apart. Arthur clenched his entire body, trembling in fear. He then forced himself to relax, waiting out the pain. When it had subsided, simply leaving the awkward feeling of being filled, he made a small noise. "O-Okay," he muttered, turning his head and glaring defiantly. "M-Move frog!" He wouldn't enjoy this. He wouldn't allow the frog to draw any noises from him.

“ _Oui_ ,” Francis nodded and, making sure Arthur’s hips were lifted up appropriately, began to thrust slowly and shallowly, hoping to get Arthur more used to the feeling. He moaned loudly at the friction around his cock before slowly speeding himself, starting to aim in the direction that the Englishman’s prostate had been in.

Arthur gritted his teeth, feeling more pain than pleasure from the act. He looked over his shoulder, glaring at Frenchman. He said nothing, wincing from the pain every so often. At last, the man managed to thrust in the spot that made Arthur see stars.

"Nya!"

“Ah! Th-that was your spot again? _Bon_!” Francis then began to aim in that direction, hitting the spot far more often than not, he’d clearly had much practice with such things. As Francis himself moaned and shuddered with pleasure, he groped around underneath of Arthur until he found his manhood and began giving it firm strokes in time with his thrusts, hoping to bring forth far more sound from his captive.

He didn't want to enjoy it, he honestly didn't. But by god was it good. Arthur squirmed under the man, his hips buckling back automatically. He chewed at his lips, muffling most of the noises that would've exited his mouth as his prostate was abused. When the Frenchman began to stroke his length, he moaned loudly, unable to stop the sounds that tore out of his throat. All rational thinking left the Brit, allowing him to be reduced to a squirming, moaning puddle.

Breathing harder, Francis sped himself but worked hard to keep steady. With his experience he was able to keep himself under control as he brought Arthur closer to the edge. He stead-fast refused to come before his former-virgin captive, especially since it would be all the more humiliating for the Brit if he knew that he had truly enjoyed being a French pirate’s whore. 

Arthur gasped, tossing his head back and arching as he let out a long moan, his hands clutching his short choppy hair. The knot in his stomach was unfurling, promising sweet relief. With a scream, Arthur released, shooting out his load. He fell limp, tired and high on the afterglow.

Withdrawing his hand and satisfied with his work, Francis thrust erratically a moment before finally his orgasm shook his body and he released himself deep inside of the Englishman. Breathing hard, the Frenchman pulled out and collapsed blissfully on top of Arthur, curling a lazy finger into Arthur’s hair.

“You see? Not so bad at all, is it?” Francis chuckled and pulled a bit on the strands. “Although you’ll likely be rather sore later, so swabbing the deck may be rather uncomfortable. Oh well!” 

Arthur cracked open a tired eye, his emerald orb swirling with irritation. "Bloody frog," he yawned, sinking into a deep sleep. "That was the worst bloody experience of my life. Wanker."

“Definitely not one of those, you’ll need a different insult than that I’m afraid if you’re actually trying to hurt my feelings, _lapin_ ,” Francis breathed into the back of Arthur’s hair before sighing and getting off the blonde Englishman. He quickly re-dressed himself and opened a few drawers before finding a solid looking pair of handcuffs he used to bind Arthur’s hands behind his back. Then he got some more rope and tied his legs together. He couldn’t risk him freeing himself after all, not yet at least. Nor could he allow him to poke around his chambers unsupervised. Francis did, however, grab a blanket and carefully tucked Arthur in beneath it. No sense in letting his new slave catch a cold after all, if he was to earn his keep. With that perpetual smile on his face, Francis left the room and a chorus of whoops and whistles rang out as his men saw his triumphant look. The Frenchman took a deep bow, always one to revel in attention.

Peter watched the Frenchman bow, his blue eyes full of smouldering fury and his tiny body shaking with rage. He hated that man, and he was going to free everyone from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH 4 TRANSLATIONS
> 
> mon lapin effrayé – (French) my frightened rabbit
> 
> le lapin est corné, non? – (French) the rabbit is horny, no?
> 
> comment adorable - (French) how adorable
> 
> Avec plaisir - (French) with pleasure


	5. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we see, life goes on, even when things look bleak.

**Chapter 5: Morning After**

The first thing Arthur felt when he awoke was an intense pain in his lower regions. The pain was burning like hellfire, and didn't seem to be fading at all. He cracked open his eyes and turned his head to the side, not surprised to find the bed he was on to be empty. The French captain must've left when he was still unconscious. Arthur sighed and covered his eyes with his arm, replaying the events from before over and over in his mind. "God, I'm such a whore."

Arthur uncovered his eyes, staring up vacantly at the ceiling. He had been touched. Touched in a despicable way that was against God. Granted, Arthur wasn't a religious man. If anything he was proudly an atheist for a long time, but for Peter he had brought religion back into his life. Arthur turned onto his belly, letting out a pained whine when spikes of pain shot up his body. Rage budded in his chest, quickly spreading throughout his body as fast as the pain did, if not faster. He needed to escape. He needed to escape and take his brother with him.

He pulled himself onto his hands and knees, grinding his teeth in effort. Slowly, with his body quivering, he moved one foot off the bed and onto the carpeted floor. He let out a shaky breath before swiftly pulling himself into a standing position, the fire in his lower regions intensifying. Arthur bit his lips, muffling his pained scream that threatened to come out. He stood there for awhile, getting used to standing again. Shaking his head, Arthur slowly limped over to a basin full of water. A note lay next to it, beautifully written in French.

The note read: _“I hope you can read French my horny little rabbit, because I’m certainly not going to stain this paper with your disgusting language. I originally had you bound up tightly before I left you in here but later decided you would be sore enough in the morning without added stiffness of limbs and so I unbound you about an hour later and moved you to the bed. I would think you slept well, considering that you did not try to murder me once while I slept beside you, and you were still blissfully unconscious this morning, though admittedly I was up with the sun. I’ve left you water, but if you want something to eat you will have to come find me and after you eat you will be put to work. And I know you will be hungry after the excitement yesterday, you haven’t eaten since we met after all! See you soon my English whore! Love, Francis Bonnefoy”_ A small heart was drawn next to Francis’ name.

Rage surged through Arthur's body. He crumbled the note and tossed the basin onto the floor. His vision was blurred red, and his hand ached to destroy everything, but the pain stopped him. Hot, angry tears rolled down his face as he sank to the floor, sobbing silently. He reached over and grabbed the rag, and proceeded to clean the seed out of his ass. He looked around for clothing, and found the clothes he came in mended of tears and lying on a chair. He put them on, wiped the tears from his eyes and hardened his face. For Peter, he would do anything.

With a sigh, Arthur opened the door and stepped out onto the busy deck. Men were scattered around, shouting and joking to each other in French. Arthur wrinkled his nose, mumbling under his breath about his height. He wandered around a bit, purposely disturbing the crew as he set about looking for the captain, but most of all, for Peter.

The crew did everything from leering at him, groping him as he walked by and giving cat calls across the deck. Still, Arthur pressed on and to the Englishman’s surprise, both of these people he searched for were found together, along with Mathieu. It seemed that Francis had chosen to eat his midday meal on the deck with his son and Peter as well since the boy had been assigned to be Mathieu’s slave and still had a collar around his neck with a chain leading up to and wrapping around the French boy’s hand. It gleamed in the sunlight. Francis had glanced up when he’d heard the commotion his crew had caused and he sent a dazzling smile at his captive.

“ _Bonjour rosbif_! I assume you slept well after I had my way with you,” Mathieu winced at the frank statement, but Francis continued, not having noticed. “Do not expect to sleep until noon in the future, _oui_? I do have a ship to run you know. Well come and eat, I’m sure you wish to speak to your _petit frere_? And you’ll see that we French make sure to eat well both on land and at sea, unlike the _Anglais_ who eat terribly everywhere. Even your _frere_ admitted he likes it!”

Arthur glared at Francis, choosing to say nothing. Slowly, his eyes traveled over to Peter, who was sheepishly smiling up at Arthur with his mouth full. "You’re a bloody traitor," Arthur mumbled, his hard scowl softening to a pout. "But I suppose so long as you are fed."

"Your cooking sucks though!" Peter whined through a mouthful of food. "You can’t blame me for eating this!"

"You can’t even pronounce what you’re eating!"

"You’re the only one who bothered to take French!" Peter complained. "It sounds weird!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and sat down next to Peter, wincing as pain shot up his spine. He patted Peter's head when he sent a look at confusion. "Hello Matthew," Arthur said at last, looking up at the French boy, but pointedly ignoring Francis. "We never did introduce ourselves, did we?"

Francis gave a small pout when he noticed that he was being ignored, but Mathieu brightened considerably. “Ah, yes! I-I’m terribly sorry, that’s very rude of me. I am Mathieu Bonnefoy,” he gave Francis a side-along glance and continued, “I’m the acting cabin boy on this ship.”

“ _Oui_ , any other position would be far too dangerous for _mon petit chou_ ,” Francis reached over and pinched Mathieu’s cheek, his smile turning very doting. Mathieu blushed scarlet and coughed slightly.

“Y-yes well, apart from regular roles as cabin boy I also do most of the administrative work,” Mathieu smiled softly. “That’s all, um, how about you? Peter hasn’t told me much about you.”

"I'm Arthur Kirkland," Arthur replied, his green eyes lazily flickering from Francis to Matthew. "I'm the best captain the British navy has. I joined when I was twelve if I can remember correctly." Arthur turned to Peter and lovingly ruffled the boy's hair. "Peter here is my youngest brother, although that was obvious," Arthur continued. "Aside from Peter, I have three older brothers as well."

"Art stole me away when I was five," Peter chirped in. "Didn't trust our brothers to raise me properly!"

"Too true." Arthur hummed. "Scott would've done nothing but ruin you. Lord knows he ruined me."  
Peter smiled warmly and leaned closer to Arthur.

Francis giggled slightly. “You’re really the best the British has? Well if that’s true I suppose pirates have little to fear from the British then, _non_?”

Mathieu frowned at Francis, and then looked at Arthur sympathetically. “I’m so sorry; the captain is very... er... he’s very...”

“Handsome? Charming? Debonair?” Francis grinned.

“... he.... he’s difficult, but not so bad once you get to know him...”

Francis gasped and put a hand over his heart, though he was clearly being over dramatic. “Mathieu! You wound your _Papa_! And after all I’ve done for you!”

Mathieu sighed. “I am honestly sorry about all this, really.”

Francis huffed. “Mathieu, there is nothing to be sorry for. After all, had the positions been reversed and we were the ones surrounded by the British and captured, our whole ship would be on the way to the gallows, including you and especially me. At least I am not subjecting them to the same fate, _oui?_ ”  Arthur growled at that comment, grating his teeth in fury.

"That's true!" Peter piped up after Francis said that, shocking Arthur. "But Art might've given Matthew a second chance since he looks about Al's age, right Art?"

"Not at all," Arthur coughed, looking away guiltily as his face flushed scarlet. "I only spared Alfred because he looked hard-working. He was a stowaway, not a pirate. I would've simply made a snide comment a Matthew and sent him to his death." Arthur turned to look down into Peter's blank eyes. The Englishman sighed and patted Peter's head.

"You’re lying," Peter quipped back.

"Peter," Arthur said sharply, his eyes narrowing in a warning. Peter looked away, glaring at nothing in particular. Arthur sighed and rubbed his temple, regret coursing through his being. Arthur turned to Francis, his eyes expectant.

"Well?" Arthur sighed. "Your note said you had work for me."

"You never took well to kindness," Peter mumbled sulkily, making Arthur flinch.

"It feels like I'm drowning in warm water," Arthur sharply replied back, making Peter scowl.

Francis watched the exchange with interest, not noticing the slight tremor that Mathieu displayed as Peter mentioned the name ‘Al’. A smirk quirked up the Frenchman’s lips as he busied himself with pouring another cup of tea in front of Arthur.

“ _Oui_ , when you are finished eating I want you to swab the deck, since the man who usually has that duty deserves a break after our successful raid yesterday. Then when you are called for, you will help the ship’s cook in the kitchens. His name is Yao. You will not be cooking, of course,” Francis chuckled at the absurdity, “But there are always potatoes to peel. You will deliver my own supper to me directly and will dine with me in my quarters. Do you understand?”

Arthur made a face, sticking out his tongue. "Feels like I'm twelve again," Arthur growled. "Damn Frog."

"Arthur can't peel potatoes," Peter giggled. "He'll find a way to disfigure them terribly!"

"Th-That was one time!" Arthur hissed. "I was pissed at Scott. and William should know better than to try to make do something I don't want to do! Besides, you weren’t even born yet!"

"But I'm still an expert on you~!" Peter sang. Arthur snorted, shaking his head. With a sigh, the Englishman stood up and ruffled Peter's hair again.

"I better get started," Arthur sighed. "The sooner it's done, the sooner I can see you again, okay?"

"Kay Art!" Peter chirped. "Don't screw up the food! It's the best I've had since Al cooked that one time!"

Arthur made a face. "Well, goodbye Matthew," Arthur smiled, nodding toward Mathieu. He glanced at Francis and made another face before walking off.

\-- --

Arthur growled, wiping the sweat off of his cheek. Hours had passed but he was nowhere near finishing the deck. The crew had made it impossible for the Brit, and he was close to impaling someone with his mop. His eyes narrowed in fury as another pirate purposely spilled the waste onto the deck. Arthur growled and stomped over to him, swinging the mop. A loud sickening 'Crack' was heard when the mop made contact with the pirate's head. The Frenchman fell unconscious to the floor, leaving a seething Arthur standing over the body.

"I will fucking maim you all," Arthur hissed. The crew backed off a bit after that, but continued to harass Arthur. Still, within an hour and a half after that incident, the deck sparkled and shined as though waxed and polished. Arthur smiled in satisfaction. He turned when he heard footsteps behind him, his scowl returning. Behind him stood a man with pale skin and black hair, his amber eyes staring at Arthur in impatience.

"You’re late, aru," the man huffed, his accent evident as he spoke English. "I had to ask that damn man where you were!"

Arthur blinked and cocked his head. "I assume you are Yao?"

The man, Yao, nodded. "Hurry up! I wanna get dinner started, aru!" Yao sighed, walking away. Arthur turned and tossed the mop into a corner and rushed after Yao.

"Your little brother told me you couldn't cook, aru," Yao commented as the two headed to the kitchen below deck. "Is that true?"

"Maybe," Arthur growled. Yao hummed.

"I'm a prisoner too, aru," Yao commented. "Like you."

Arthur stared at him, blinking curiously. "Oh?"

"Help me finish the food and I might let you see your brother, aru," Yao said.

Arthur blinked in disbelief, his steps faltering. "Why are you helping me?" he whispered, the same drowning feeling coming over him. He hated receiving kindness, it hurt. Yao looked at him and smiled sadly.

"I had a brother," Yao replied. "I would've done anything for him. I know how you feel, aru. So I want to help you." Arthur smiled and followed Yao. When they reached the kitchen, the two set to work, quickly making dinner. Arthur peeled the potatoes expertly and chopped anything Yao needed him to, but mostly stayed out of his way. The two exchanged stories of their kidnappings, both quickly becoming friends.

"Can I see Peter now?" Arthur asked anxiously when Yao had declared dinner made.

"Let's go see Matthew then, aru," Yao agreed. Arthur followed the Chinese man, anxious to see his brother. Yao led him to Matthew's cabin and knocked on the door.

There was some shuffling on the other side of the door before it was opened to reveal Mathieu looking a tad dishevelled, his hair turned up at odd angles. “Oh, Arthur, Yao, w-what brings you here?” He ushered the two inside, “Um, sorry about the mess, Peter spilled soup and we’ve been cleaning it off of my bed for an hour... I still think the captain will notice...” Mathieu groaned. “I guess I’ll just have to tell him I did it. I don’t want to have to punish your brother for something so trivial.”

Sure enough, the white bedspread was spread on the floor with a huge stain over the middle of it. There was a bucket of soapy water nearby that had been clearly used to try cleaning out the stain, but it did not seem to have helped much. Peter was sitting next to the bedspread as they entered the chain and collar around his neck but the end of the chain was just lying on the ground, Mathieu clearly having abandoned it to answer the door.

"No need," Arthur sighed, smiling and entering the room. He lightly thunked Peter's head. "Silly," Arthur smiled warmly. "You’re so clumsy, love." Peter pouted. "I'll clean it," Arthur said. "I'm done with my chores, so I can help."

"Well Arthur wanted to see his brother, aru," Yao said. "As he said, he's done. I just want him to see his brother, aru." Arthur and Peter had already set to scrubbing, both Englishmen scrubbing furiously.

"Matthew, child, can you by any chance get your hands on a lemon?" Arthur asked, not looking up from inspecting the white cloth. "It'll help get the stain off faster."

Mathieu startled in surprise at the request to help, but nodded with a relieved smile. “Yes, I can do that, the captain always keeps fruit like that on the ship to fight scurvy. I’ll be right back!” Mathieu left the room quickly, giving a polite smile to Yao as well as he passed him and headed out to the ship’s deck, leaving the group alone.

"Well, I'll be going," Yao chirped. "See you later Arthur, aru."

"Bye Yao," Arthur called. After the Chinese man left, Arthur turned to Peter. "We're getting out of here."

"Finally!" Peter sighed, a wide smile overtaking his face. "How soon?"

"As soon as humanly possible," Arthur sighed. "Granted, it will take some time. Give it two weeks. We need them to fall into routine before making a run. I made sure to mentally map out the deck for the lifeboats and what the easiest food to bring would be. Since you'll most likely be down here most of the time, try to find weapons. If we have to, we'll have to kill poor Matthew as a distraction."

"What about Alfred?" Peter asked, worry shining in his eyes. "How's Al gonna escape?"

"Love, my only concern is getting you away safely," Arthur said solemnly, looking his brother in the eyes. "Lord knows I'll do anything for you. Peter, I lost my virginity for you. I let a man fuck me for you. All I ask in return is that you listen to me when things involving your safety are ordered. Do you understand?" Peter nodded, hugging his brother. He could hear Arthur's quick rapid heartbeat. Arthur was scared, but he didn't show it. Peter kissed his brother's cheek and snuggled closer to Arthur. The two didn't pull away, even after they heard the door to the room open and Mathieu come in.

“Ah, I got lemons!” Mathieu said, breathing hard, “The captain isn’t happy that I left Peter in my room unsupervised and I’m not sure he believed me when I just said I was craving citrus so we’ll have to work fast, I’m so sorry you were dragged into this, Arthur.” Mathieu worried his lip slightly as he held out the lemons to the Englishman.

"For Peter, I don't give a damn," Arthur replied solemnly, smiling as he took the lemons. The Englishman used his teeth to rip each one open, squeezing the juice into the sheets and then rubbing the lemons in. Arthur set them down and began scrubbing, the stain coming off quicker and easier. "Peter, love, can you help me with your mess," Arthur said, scrubbing the sheets back to their pure white. Peter nodded and helped his brother scrub the stain away.

Mathieu looked very relieved as the stain faded from the fabric and eventually sighed as it vanished completely. “I-I really can’t thank you enough, a-and I’m sure Peter is thankful as well. But um, the captain probably still shouldn’t catch you in here with Peter and I since he hasn’t had his dinner yet... you should probably go back to Yao for now...”

Arthur sighed and looked up at Mathieu, sadness and reluctance swirling in those emerald eyes. "Just take care of him," Arthur begged, lowering his eyes. Peter tackled his older brother into a hug, the two falling over from the impact, laughing. "Take care Peter," Arthur murmured, kissing the smaller blonde's head.

"Okay, but don't let that bastard touch you again!" Peter said sharply. Arthur kissed Peter's forehead again and hugged him tighter.

"For you Peter, I will do anything and everything." Arthur said solemnly. "I would whore myself to anyone if it meant your safety. Even that bastard." Peter stared up at his brother, an unknown jealousy of some sort being planted in his heart. Arthur stood up and sat Peter on the bed.

"Be strong Peter. Never surrender, never be outdone. Remember that I'd do anything for you, because you're the reason I didn't jump off the Cliffs of Dover. You're the reason I finally left my brothers. You’re the reason I joined the Navy. You’re my everything, nothing will ever replace you. If I die, then it would be for you."

A familiar shiver ran up Peter's spine as Arthur said this. He should've been used to it, Arthur always repeated these words to him like a twisted prayer, but it felt different this time. Why was it so different?  
Arthur gripped Peter's hand tightly before letting it go completely and turning around.

"Goodnight," Arthur said robotically. "Sweet dreams, to the both of you."

"Night brother," Peter called, longing in his voice. He wanted to curl up with his brother, like he used to, and doze off as Arthur sang to him. But now, his brother would share the Frenchman's quarters. This caused the jealousy to spark up in Peter, bringing a scowl to his face. It wasn't fair, Arthur was _his_ brother! His fists clenched as jealousy transformed to rage. They would escape then, Peter decided, because he wanted all of Arthur's attention again. His brother's words came back to the boy and Peter smiled softly, the jealousy and rage receding.

 _'Arthur only cares for me,'_ Peter thought warmly. _'He's told me so many times before.'_ The boy's smile fell again, his brows knitting in worry. _'If Arthur really only cares about me,'_ Peter thought _, 'Then why do I feel like Francis is going to come between us?'_

\-- --

Francis sat in his captain’s quarters looking over documents and inventory lists. He had already read some of the captain’s log from the British ship, believing it could have valuable information that could be used or sold to others but there wasn’t very much of interest thus far. Still, it was worth reading every page, just in case. He did look up, however, when there was a knock on the door.

“Is that _mon rosbif_ with dinner?” Francis contently snapped the captain’s log shut and went to the door, opening it widely. Arthur stood at the doorway, holding a large tray of food with his face twisted into a moody scowl. There was a large bowl of hot steaming stew, a roll of bread next to it. A bottle of wine was tucked under Arthur's arm as he balanced a glass cup on the tray with shiny utensils next to it.

"Food's here," Arthur said sulkily. "I hope you choke on it."

Francis tutted and ushered Arthur into the room, having him set the food on the table. Upon looking at it, he frowned. “I am fairly certain I asked you to dine with me, _non_? There is only one glass and bowl here. Unless you wished to share so intimately as drinking from the same glass? You flatter me!” The Frenchman wiggled his perfectly shaped eyebrows and smirked playfully at the Brit.

"Yao wanted me to bring this first," Arthur replied, setting the tray down. "Sit tight, I'll be back." With that, Arthur left. He came back minutes later, holding an extra bowl, utensils, and a cup. He set them down on the tray and looked up at the other man expectantly.

Francis snorted slightly and sat at the table, gesturing for the Englishman to do the same as he poured them each some wine. “I hope you did not find working today to be too painful for you? I noticed you winced at the table this morning. It will get easier with time, _lapin_.” Francis’ eyes sparkled as he stirred his wine with a finger before taking a sip.

Arthur sat down, barely feeling the pain, but it still lingered. He snorted, keeping his eyes lowered. "I did it for Peter," Arthur said. He took a sip of his wine, making a face at the taste of it. He set his glass down, wishing he had some of his delicious Earl Grey tea. "How long do you plan on keeping us, then?" Arthur asked suddenly, staring at Francis. "Peter and myself, I mean. I keep trying to wrap around my head the idea as to why you would even bother to take us in. Although I'm glad the two of us are alive, I can't seem to fathom why?"

“Why?” Francis looked at Arthur as if he had said something very strange. “Well... to your first question I intend to keep you until I am no longer interested in you in any way. At which time, I suppose I may kill you, or sell you, or ransom you... it depends on my mood, _non_? Unless of course by then you wish to stay with me willingly, in which case I may let you remain on my ship. You did a good job only helping with dinner at least.” Francis paused. “As to why... I suppose, despite certain drawbacks, you are rather physically attractive, for an Englishman. And you bear yourself well, as if nothing can break you. I rather like seeing that stubborn face twisted in pleasure that’s caused by a man you hate.” Francis chuckled darkly. “Humiliating the English is what I live for some days, it seems.”

Arthur stared at him, emotions swirling through his eyes. Suddenly, the Englishman chuckled. "You remind me of my oldest brother," Arthur said bitterly, a small smile gracing his features. "He had this love-hate thing for me. Loved to see me cry, but wanted to be the one to wipe my tears." He leaned back, seemingly lost in thought.

Francis’ lips twitched slightly. “So I am like your big brother? You know, I rather like that.” Francis chuckled and sipped from his wine again before taking a bite of stew. “And toward that brother, what did you think of him?” The Frenchman watched Arthur closely.

"I hate him," Arthur replied back sharply, his face darkening and rage reflecting in his eyes. "He made my life a living hell, and I hated him for that. How would you like it if someone spit chewed up bananas on you and then rubbed it all over your personage, or forced you to drink liquefied dog shit for breakfast and lunch, but not dinner for some odd reason. It's NOT fun. On top of that, he loved to beat the living shit out of me. He also got my other brothers to fuck around with me, so I had no one to cry to. They blamed me for sending Mum into a depression, and then blamed Peter for killing her. So, as you can see, I detest you as well."

Francis seemed startled by Arthur’s suddenly rage and tilted back in his seat slightly, away from him. His eyes widened and he blinked. “Do you... when you say liquefied dog shit, do you mean that literally or figuratively? Because some of your English dishes are rather unidentifiable and certainly comparable with dog shit...” Francis tried to smirk, but it seemed hesitant.

"Yes Frog, actual dog shit!" Arthur snapped back. "I got out of there as soon as possible and came back when Peter was born." Arthur's face softened at the thought of his beloved younger brother. "Scott would've done the same to him, and I couldn't bear the thought of another child falling prey to Scott's torture. So I stole Peter away and took him with me. The captain of my ship let Peter stay, and I worked my way up the ladder for Peter. It was all for him, when he was born, some hope was born in myself. He became my everything, my reason for life itself. I needed him to turn out alright, if only for my sanity."

Francis composed himself. “Well, your older brother sounds rather... unbalanced. Though I can assure you, your younger brother is perfectly safe on this ship as long as you do as you’re told. _Mon_ Mathieu would never touch him and could only be a good influence.” Francis seemed to think for a moment before smiling. “I assure you that I would have been a much better brotherly figure to you, had fate designed things that way. I would’ve fed you gourmet food every day, given you only the finest clothes, and treated you like a little prince! _Mon petite sœur_ could vouch for me, because she was always my princess.” Francis sighed wistfully, as he took another sip of wine and then chuckled, “Of course she tended to get mad when I called her that.”

"Always thought the French were pansies," Arthur sniffed, rolling his eyes. "I am who I am because of my brothers, so I can’t complain as much as I would like to. They made me strong enough to care for Peter. That alone is reason enough to forgive Scott, William, and Edward enough. Though I still hate them."

“Hmm...” Francis stroked his small beard thoughtfully as he observed Arthur and smiled. “You know what I think, _lapin_? I think you actually care about them quite a lot, even if you don’t consider them fit to raise children.”

"Oh no, I hate them," Arthur replied. "I'm just grateful they didn’t let me die. I gave them the respect they earned for being older, that's all." Arthur shook his head. "Enough of my life story," he sighed. "I can’t believe I told you any of this in the first place!"

Francis grinned. “Ah but _cher_ , I am still interested in your life story. Does simply being older truly earn them respect? I hardly believe that. You said before that while your brother tormented you, he still wiped your tears. And as you say, they did not let you die. You may not have had the best relationship, but if someone outside the family threatened to hurt you your brothers would have stopped them, and if someone threatened your brothers you would stop them as well. That is called caring as far as I’m concerned, even if it’s not how most people show it.” Francis chuckled. “As to why you told me, perhaps you are getting too comfortable with me, _rosbif_.”

Arthur stared at Francis, mulling over the man's words. At last, he snorted, frowning. "I think it's the eyes," Arthur replied. "They remind me of Peter's." Realizing what he said, Arthur blushed darkly and turned away. "Y-You’re still a frog!" Arthur lowered his head, thinking over the other man's words again. "Maybe I do care." Arthur murmured with a scowl. "Hmm. Interesting."

Francis merely continued his infuriating smile and poured them both some more wine, finishing off his stew. “I think you do. And I’m glad to hear you like something about me, _lapin_. Your own eyes are a rather lovely colour as well.” Francis raised his glass. “A toast, to family both present and not?”

Arthur stared at the drink, picking it up slowly in his hand. "Well, I'm going to Hell anyway," Arthur sighed, clinking the glass against Francis's cup. " _Pour la famille_!"

Francis laughed, “Your accent isn’t bad, _cheri_.” He downed half his glass before setting it back on the table. “Well, now that dinner is more or less finished with, I’m sure you and I will have much fun together tonight.” Francis winked at the Englishman and wiggled his eyebrows.

"My ass is still hurting," Arthur whined, pouting. "It's no fun to bottom."

Francis hummed. “Well, you could always suck me off instead. Though that can wait, I was referring to playing a game with me. Your mind is so dirty _lapin_! Do you know how to play chess?” Francis rose and started to rummage through a chest at the foot of his bed, withdrawing a wooden chess board and a cloth bag containing the pieces.

Arthur flushed, his eyes widening. "W-WELL YOU’RE SO MUCH OF A PERVERT YOU MADE IT SEEM SEXUAL!" Arthur glared, but smiled challengingly as the other man brought the chessboard. "Of course I know how to play," Arthur replied. "Alfred and I used to spend hours playing it, although the boy was terrible at it."

“ _Bon_ ,” Francis grinned, removing the dishes and placing the board between them. “I will of course be white. Now, if I may ask, have you ever played.... _strip_ chess?”

"I KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO DO SOMETHING PERVERTED! FROG!"

Francis snorted and shook his head. “Obviously I was kidding, _non_? Why would I need to play strip chess when I have every right to strip you right now? Calm down and enjoy yourself, you’re so uptight it’s a wonder I managed to fuck you at all.” Francis moved his pawn forward two spaces. “Make your move, no stripping required,” he winked, “Unless you want to.”

Arthur huffed and moved his own pawn, his face red. "You’re still a frog," he huffed.

Francis moved another pawn one space forward to defend his first. “Perhaps,” he said, “but as far as your face looks right now, I’m starting to think of that more as an endearment than an insult _cheri_.”

"In that case, you’re a snail eating bastard," Arthur huffed, glaring at Francis irritably as he moved another pawn away from the other pawns.

“So insulting, and after I did you the honour of letting you live,” Francis shook his head and captured Arthur’s first pawn. “Was last night really so terrible? You seemed to enjoy yourself at the time. Perhaps you already have a special someone in your life and I removed your chance of giving yourself to them?” Francis’ eyes met Arthur’s as he paid deft attention to his answer.

"Not my fault you let me live," Arthur scoffed. "I didn't ask to be alive. Furthermore, I'm sure anyone would enjoy some event like that." He moved his second pawn and captured Francis's pawn.

Francis raised his eyebrows. “Well, I will admit I am very enjoyable, but I didn’t expect you to admit it.” He moved his Knight forward, so it was in line to capture Arthur’s pawn. “Anyway, I’m sure you would have wanted to live, if only for the sake of your _petit frere, non_?”

"I didn't mean it like that!" Arthur shot back, his face reddening. He blinked and scowled. "Well you make a good point with Peter." he grumbled. He moved his pawn away.

“Sure you didn’t, _cheri_ ,” Francis moved another pawn forward. Their game continued with this kind of light banter for a while, Francis making sexual innuendos here and there and Arthur fiercely rebuking them as they slowly destroyed each other’s chess pieces. Finally, Arthur was left with only a knight, his queen, and of course his king. Francis had his king and both rooks. He was slowly trying to force Arthur’s king to the edge of the board so he could checkmate him when the door to the room burst open. It was one of Francis’ men who ran in speaking French so fast that even Francis had to tell him to slow down so he could understand him.

“ _Il ya un_ _navire russe se dirigeant vers nous, nous croyons que le capitaine d'être Ivan Braginski._ _Il_ _veut parler à vous_.”

“ _Zut_! And I was about to win... Ah well, best see what dearest Ivan wants.” Smirking, Francis rose and gestured to Arthur to stay seated. “If you know what is good for you, you will stay here, _rosbif_. Ivan is a friend of mine, but if he should see you and take a liking to that cute ass of yours he won’t hesitate in fighting me to get to it and if you end up on his ship... well let’s just say you will then appreciate how kind I am to you, _non_?” Francis frowned suddenly, “I do hope Gilbert can keep his mouth shut this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH 5 TRANSLATIONS
> 
> Il ya un navire russe se dirigeant vers nous, nous croyons que le capitaine d'être Ivan Braginski. Il veut parler à vous - (French) There is a Russian ship heading our way, we believe it to be the captain Ivan Braginski. He wants to talk to you.


	6. The Russian Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild ivan appears

**Chapter 6: The Russian Man**

Arthur's back had tensed at the mention of Ivan's name. He had had a run in with the Russian twice, both times Arthur's ship had managed to get away. "I've had a run in with him before," Arthur said darkly. "Just let me go to Peter, that's all I ask." Arthur knew full well that Ivan had taken a liking to Peter, and the Brit was afraid the Russian would try to take him away.

Francis regarded Arthur for a moment before nodding. “Very well, you may go to Mathieu’s cabin. I’d also prefer to keep him out of Ivan’s sight as well if I can. But move quickly.” Francis left the room and went onto the deck. He watched as the Prussian ship slowly fell behind their group of three as the Spanish ship came level with their side. The Prussian ship eventually came up on the Spanish’s other side and Francis watched as Antonio and Gilbert made their way across planks to stand beside him as the Russia ship drew ever closer.

Soon a bulky man with a long coat and silver hair could be seen on the bow of the approaching ship, waving with a cheery horseshoe shaped smile on his lips. Francis waved back, but his companions did not. Gilbert folded his arms and glared moodily, while Antonio’s hand moved instinctively towards the sword at his belt. Francis would’ve like to go and check to be sure Arthur had made it to the other cabin, but he dared not or else possibly alert Ivan to the fact he was hiding people away from him. He’d spent many years playing this game so that Ivan would never realize that the small violet eyed boy he had tried and failed to deflower in a Portuguese port was on the Frenchman’s ship.

\-- --

 Arthur burst into the cabin, startling Peter and Mathieu. "Arthur, what is it?" Peter asked worriedly, rushing to his brother's side.

"Ivan's here," Arthur informed them, earning wide eyes fearful looks. He smiled warmly, a parental instinct taking over as Peter and, surprisingly, Mathieu clung to him.

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed. "I'm here, and I won’t let that man touch you." He sat on the bed, pulling both boys with him as they still held on. They sat like that, the three of them, for a couple minutes before a thought came to Arthur's mind. Alfred.

"Fuck!" The Englishman cursed, making both boys jump. "Alfred's going to get himself killed if I'm not there to stop him from playing 'Hero'!"

“A-Alfred?” Mathieu’s eyes widened, “Th-that was your, um... your friend wasn’t it? B-but you can’t go out there! I-Ivan will...” Mathieu shuddered suddenly. “Please don’t!” He clung ever tighter to the Brit, desperately trying to convince him not to leave.

"Matt's right, don't go Arthur!" Peter wailed, tears brimming his blue eyes.

"Peter, Alfred's practically my son as well," Arthur reprimanded softly. "Without me there, the boy will most likely kill himself."

"I don't care!" Peter cried, clinging tighter. "I want you here, with me!" Arthur looked down at the sobbing Peter, and then turned his eyes to the quivering Mathieu. He sighed and held them closer.

"I promised nothing would happen to you two," Arthur murmured, kissing their foreheads, causing Mathieu to look very surprised. " _Je vais vous garder en sécurité_." Peter smiled and rested his head on Arthur's shoulder.

"Alfred F. Jones," Arthur growled under his breath. "If you die, I'm going to murder you."

\-- --

On the deck of the ship, the Russians had succeeded in coming up alongside the French boat and Ivan casually walked across the plank to the French boat, happily greeting Francis by kissing both cheeks, which Francis reciprocated. Antonio hung back and Ivan seemed to take no notice of him. He did however see Gilbert and managed in the end to grab him into a struggle-filled hug a little too tight for proper breathing, but he was lucky Francis was there to shake his head warningly at his Prussian friend because otherwise he would’ve had a sword aimed at his throat instead.

“Ah, I’m so pleased to see my darling Gilbunny! Are you sure you will not come visit my ship again?” Ivan asked, Gilbert still trapped in his arms.

“I’M SURE, YOU SADISTIC CREEP!”

Ivan laughed warmly. “Always so cute.” Planting a kiss into Gilbert’s hair he finally drew back, tucked his arms behind his back and giggled. It was all very unnerving for such a large man to act like that.

Francis quickly cleared his throat before Gilbert could give an angry retort. “So what brings you to our little fleet, _mon ami_? Do you need help with anything?”

Ivan giggled again. “Actually, I do, _da_?” He sighed, suddenly sounding pitiful. “You see, it seems that my lovely Toris has managed a bit of an escape on me! You wouldn’t happen to have seen him, would you?”

Francis gave a sorrowful expression. “Oh, that lovely porcelain thing with brown hair? That is quite a loss; I thought you kept a better hold on your toys than that?”

Ivan nodded. “ _Da_ , that’s him. I really thought I had broken him, but I think he might’ve met someone who gave him the will to escape. When I find whoever it was, I plan to kill them.” He said this casually.

“As any of us would if our slaves escaped,” Francis nodded, “But I’m afraid I have not seen this Toris anywhere since I last saw you.”

“Ah, that’s just the thing!” Ivan said excitedly. “That’s when he went missing, right after you last saw me! When we were in port together last you three left first and then I noticed him gone! I’ve been trying to track you down for aaaaages!” Ivan pouted, as if such a search had been unnecessarily exhausting to him. “Anyway, I’m just going to give a quick search on your ships! I don’t think any of you would be stupid enough to actually hide him purposefully, but he might’ve stowed away with whoever helped him escape me.”

Francis stiffened a moment, a bit fearful of what a search could bring. Still, refusing Ivan was a very bad idea. It was true that at this moment if they refused Ivan would return to his boat and sail away, but from then on they would no longer be friends... and Ivan’s friendship was valuable to have and horrible to break.

“ _O-oui_ you... you are of course free to search our ships. Just be careful not to break anything!” Francis said with a strained smile. If nothing else, should he find Mathieu and Arthur he could stop the Russian from taking them right at the moment if he desired to. Though from then on, Ivan would know exactly where they were if he wished to put more effort into capturing them in the future.

Alfred glanced over the heads of his new crewmates. Seeing a familiar mop of silver hair that didn't belong to the ruby eyed captain, he pushed forward. Arthur wasn't here to stop him from challenging the Russian. Alfred wanted revenge; revenge for almost killing his father figure and for attacking their ship in the first place. He also just had an unnatural dislike for the Russian man. Stealthily stealing a gun from one crewmate, and pick pocketing a knife from another, he managed to push his way to the front, right in Ivan's line of vision. He smiled challengingly as he saw recognition flashed across violet eyes.

"Arthur, this is for you," Alfred muttered under his breath, placing his hands behind his back and gripping his weapons tightly. Ivan’s eyes widened and the crew fell silent. All eyes turned to where Ivan had looked and Antonio’s mouth dropped open.

“How did you get out of the ankle chains? Go back to my ship right now!” Antonio ordered, but Ivan pushed him aside, making him growl.

“Oh, so you keep pigs aboard your ships now, comrades?” Ivan chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing suddenly. “I’ll admit this is quite the surprise. I suppose you have something to kill me with tucked behind you?”

Gilbert looked shocked for a minute, and then burst into laughter which earned a glare from Ivan, not that he cared. “KESESESE! Really? Well hurry up then, _gott_ knows he deserves it!” Francis smacked his shoulder and the albino puffed out him cheeks in annoyance.

Francis nervously looked toward Alfred. “Now listen, er, Al, was it? This is a meeting between captains. As a slave, you would do best to be back on Antonio’s ship.”

Ivan’s eyes widened again and he turned a grin to the American. “Oh, you’re a slave now? That’s wonderful! I’m glad you’ve finally attained your proper position in life!”

Alfred smiled darkly, pulling out the gun and knife and stepping forward. "Arthur's not here to stop me from kicking your ass for a third time," Alfred chuckled. "And this time, I'll end you!" He sent a glance at Antonio and Francis and shrugged.

"This is more personal than anything else, sorry bro." With that, Alfred aimed the gun and fired, managing to shoot a hole in the Russian’s scarf as he ducked out of the way. Ivan looked at the scarf with wide eyes before snarling, actually snarling like a wild animal and leaping at Alfred, tackling to the ground as Francis yelped and Gilbert burst into more laughter. Ivan got Alfred down to the ground, the gun spinning out of his hand and across the deck. Ivan grabbed Alfred’s neck and choked him.

“My _sister_ made that scarf for me, you American whore _,_ and you will pay for it in **_blood_**!” he hissed harshly into Alfred’s ear.

“Hey! That’s my slave, you can’t just do that!” Antonio gasped and tried to pull Ivan off of Alfred but the large Russian wouldn’t move.

"That's actually pretty cool," Alfred admitted. He thrust his knee into the other man's gut, making him flinch long enough for Alfred to plunge the knife into his shoulder. When the Russian pulled back, he rolled out from under him, yanking the knife out with him. He left to his feet and spun around, barely managing to duck the punch Ivan sent his way. Ivan clutched his shoulder and growled, about to lunge at Alfred again when a group of Frenchmen quickly leapt on Alfred first, pinning him to the ground as Francis and Antonio tried their best to hold back Ivan.

“ _Mon ami_ , it is not so bad, really! Why, I could have that scarf fixed in an hour!” Francis insisted.

“I do not care. That pig has insulted me and hurt me. He will be punished.”

“ _Si_ , he will be, but by his master,” Antonio huffed.

“ _Nyet._ By me,” Ivan finally looked at the Spaniard, but it was a glare.

Antonio frowned, but finally sighed. “Well... then give him lashes. Don’t kill him, I only just got him yesterday and he hasn’t even counted inventory for me yet!”

Ivan snorted and shook off the arms of the trio of pirate captains, turning his harsh gaze to Alfred who struggled to fight off the men who were holding him down. “Fine, this time I will allow as much, but only for the sake of Francis’... friend. But I will get to make him bleed properly, _da_?”

Antonio shuddered, shot Alfred a patronizing glance, and then nodded. “ _Si_ he... he deserves it.”

Alfred spat at Ivan. "Communist bastard," he growled. "One day, it’ll be just me and you, nothing stopping us. Then we'll see who's the better man."

“Perhaps, but for now, I will enjoy watching you held down as I make you bleed, _da_?” Ivan smiled a sickening smile as the Frenchmen hauled Alfred to his feet and dragged him to the mast where he was tied, his back facing the Russian who was given a whip. Before he was tied, his shirt was pulled off of him.

“I will enjoy this, _da_?” Ivan said happily as he was given a whip. The other three pirate captains stood silent nearby, knowing they had to watch in case Ivan got too violent and forgot his promise not to kill, as he was wont to do.

"Ah shut up and whip me already," Alfred spat. "I'm bored of you already." He turned to Francis and Antonio and laughed. "Dudes, if I totally make it through this still conscious, I get to see Artie, kay?"

The pirates did not respond, but Ivan quickly brought the whip down in a practiced motion, succeeding in ripping off skin in the first strike. Grinning joyously, Ivan rained down blow after blow, sending blood flowing down Alfred’s thighs, staining his pants. Ivan soon was licking his lips. “Having fun, comrade?”

Alfred gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. He said nothing, taking each blow as the force grew. Sweat mixed with blood as Alfred, determined not to make a sound, waited for the rain of blows to finish. His glasses fell off, bringing forth an irritated whine. A small gasp escaped his lips then as the whip lashed down. He steeled himself and continued the silent treatment as the lashes pressed on. He wouldn't last much longer, that he knew. His body was trembling, his arms ached, and his head swam with dizziness from the loss of blood.

The moment Alfred’s head lolled limply forward, Antonio darted forward to grab Ivan’s arm. The Russia growled and managed to lash out one more time before some frantic talk from Francis convinced him to lower his whip and surrender it to one of the French crewmembers to remove. Ivan looked at Alfred’s mutilated back and grinned.

“I have ripped open many backs in the past but this one was very... satisfying. I can hardly wait to do it again!” Giving a slight giggle, Ivan turned away from Alfred and then a look of confusion passed over his face. “Um... why was I here again?” He tapped his chin, as if trying to remember. The other pirates stared at him in disbelief, but were unable to say anything. Finally Ivan hit his fist into his palm, looking delighted. “Right! I was going to find Toris! Now, if I could have a chance to look around?” Ivan asked and Francis sighed, nodding and leading the Russian to the door heading below deck. As he did so, several other Russians from Ivan’s ship boarded and began searching the ship as well. One knocked on the door of Mathieu’s cabin and the blond boy gasped, burrowing into Arthur’s side and whimpering loudly.

"Arthur," Peter whimpered.

"Shhh, it's alright boys," Arthur soothed, "I promise, nothing will happen." When the pounding continued, Arthur stood up, leading both boys on the bed.

"Art no!" Peter squealed, clinging to the older Englishman. "Don't open the door!"

"Matthew, Peter, hide under the bed," Arthur commanded. When neither moved, he yanked them by their shirts and tossed them under the bed.

"Be dead silent," He hissed. "Nothing will happen to you, they'd have to kill me first." He turned to face the door just as it was broken in.

The large Russian pirate looked into the room and focused on Arthur immediately. He spoke in French, apparently assuming Arthur to be one of Francis’ crewmembers. “ _Searching for Lithuanian man, stand aside please_.” He pushed his way into the room. As he did so Mathieu clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his breathing. He didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, obviously they were not looking for him or Peter, and the man who had spoken certainly wasn’t Ivan, but the fact that he and Peter were hiding at all might make the man suspicious and... he really didn’t know what to do as the man turned around in the small space and then headed for the bed. Arthur clapped a hand on the man's shoulder, making him look back.

"Quite sorry, chap, but I don't speak Frog," Arthur said menacingly, smiling darkly. "All I know is that there's an intruder in my chambers with no logical reason." With that, he grabbed the man's arm and threw him from the room, watching him crash into the wall outside. "Now, ask again nicely," Arthur said sternly. "And please don't disturb the sleeping pups under my bed, they missed their dinner and are vicious dogs when hungry."

The Russian gasped and struggled to his feet, quickly looking toward the deck and barking orders in Russian. Another Russian hurried over and had a fast conversation in Russian before the second turned to glare at Arthur and addressed him in English. “You threw my friend. We search for Lithuanian man, are you hiding him?”

"Was his name Toris?" Arthur asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he recalled his memories of any Lithuanian on Ivan's ship. Brown hair, green eyes, pale skin; yes, Arthur remembered him. When the man nodded yes, Arthur shook his head, sighing. "Won't find him here, last I saw of him he was on some Polish ship," Arthur replied, remembering seeing the Lithuanian on a Polish pirate ship when paroling the Channel.

“Still, we must search the room to be sure. It is only you here, yes? If he is not in the room then there is nothing to fear.” The English-speaking Russian asked.

"Fine, but don't disturb the dogs under the bed," Arthur said, sitting on the bed. He watched the two cautiously as they searched the room. The two Russian men didn’t take long to open the chests in the room and search the small space. One did attempt to reach under the bed but in a stroke of inspiration the terrified Mathieu let out a very realistic growl. The Russia drew back and shrugged.

“I did not really expect him to be here anyway. The captain wastes his time, I think. I saw him talking to a Polish girl at the last port too but Ivan was sure he would be here.” Speaking briefly to his companion who nodded, the two left the room. The door however swung on its hinges, unable to close properly since it had been broken in.

“Is... is it over?” Mathieu whispered as quietly as possible, holding the shivering Peter to his chest.

"They're gone," Arthur said. He flipped the covers up and pulled the two boys into an embrace. He smiled, a maternal emotion rising in his chest as the two trembling boys molded into his form.  
"It’s alright, love, it's alright," Arthur soothed. "I made a promise. Matthew, darling, brilliant work with that growl. You two were so brave. My two brave boys."

“Th-thank you,” Mathieu sighed and relaxed against Arthur. At that moment however, the door swung open again and Mathieu nearly choked. Ivan stood in the doorway, his large form blotting out the light.

“I came to see the cute doggies! Francis looked surprised when my man mentioned them, so I told him I would take a look!” Ivan giggled.

“Ivan! That- _zut_ ,” Francis hissed as he came behind Ivan, cursing himself for his moment of confusion.

The Russian looked at the three on the bed and his expression brightened considerably. “Oh, you didn’t just get that pig, you got the _set_! Ooh, I’m so jealous!” Ivan whined and hurried into the room. Mathieu leaned back, looking horrified.  Arthur growled savagely, pushing both boys behind him and stood up meet Ivan, trying to block his view of the younger two.

"What did you do to Alfred?" He hissed.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Ivan chuckled and Francis sighed.

“Your... friend... shot a hole through Ivan’s scarf. He was whipped until he fell unconscious, he is being taken back to Antonio’s ship now,” Francis reported in a dead voice. Ivan giggled like a schoolboy.

“Anyway, I recognise that one! He escaped me before, Francis, you’ll let me play with your toy one night, _da_?” Ivan pointed at Mathieu and Francis swallowed hard before stealing himself.

“ _Non_ , Ivan, that is not a slave, that is _mon petit fils_ and you cannot have him,” Francis said carefully. Ivan’s eyes widened.

“Oh! I did not know you had a son, you never showed him to me before, why not? He’s very cute!” Ivan reached out to ruffle Mathieu’s hair but Arthur blocked him, snarling. The Russian frowned.

“ _Oui_ , he is. Please refrain from scaring him in the future,” Francis said stonily. Ivan looked at Francis as if he was babbling nonsense.

“Scaring? I would never scare this little one! I was only going to have fun... oh well. What about the little English boy? He’s obviously not your son as well.”

Francis winced. “Er, were you not searching for the Lithuanian man?”

“Oh Toris! I almost forgot! But later I can, right?”

“ _Non_ ,” Francis sighed, “I wouldn’t mind usually, but I need him to keep his brother in line. You know the type- cannot be controlled unless you threaten their loved ones.”

Ivan huffed and the look in his eyes turned dangerous for a moment before he hid behind a pleasant smile. “Of course, Francis, now just let me check under the bed!” Taking a theatrical look under the bed in the room, Ivan nodded and went to leave. As he passed the small group of huddled blondes though, he let out a bark. Mathieu jumped.

“You’re too cute! Oh, and Arthur, I would count myself lucky if I were you. If I had managed to find your ship before Francis took you over, well, you and your crew would be in much worse shape than they are in, _da_?” Ivan giggled once more, looking at Arthur to see his reaction.

''That's laughable," he shot back, emerald eyes flashing with a dangerous emotion. "Seeing as we kicked your ass TWICE!" He looked back at the two boys then turned back to Ivan. "You’re lucky I'm more preoccupied with keeping my two boys safe, or I'd kick your ass," Arthur growled.

“Just because I let you sail away does not mean you won,” Ivan’s smile was dark. Francis quickly stepped between them, shooting a small, odd look over his shoulder at Arthur before turning to the Russian.

“Now, now Ivan, there’s no need to fight with a slave, _oui_? Your men are nearly finished on Gilbert’s boat, you will of course wish to double check?”

Ivan glared daggers at Arthur before sighing and putting a smile back on. “Very well, I will leave for now. But I will want to talk to you afterward, Francis,” Ivan wiggled his fingers in a farewell and left the room, slamming the door behind but of course it bounced open again.

“ _Mon Mathieu_ ,” Francis quickly ran to the small French boy and wrapped him up in his arms. “Are you hurt? You were not... touched, were you?”

“ _N-non Papa_ ,” Mathieu shook his head. Francis released him, looking relieved.

“ _Bon,_ now leave Ivan to me, I should be able to smooth things over from here.” Francis gave one last look at Arthur and opened his mouth as if to ask something, but quickly shut it again and gave a brief acknowledging nod before heading out onto the deck. Mathieu breathed out shakily and looked at Arthur.

“Um... thank you, y-you didn’t have to do that... I-I mean for Peter obviously you would but... for me you didn’t have to but... thank you.”

Arthur smiled reassuringly and pulled him into a tight embrace. "Matthew," Arthur laughed dismissively. "You know I've grown rather fond of you. Not sure why, but I have. Besides, I know how scary that brute can be, I couldn't just leave you alone."

"Oh just admit your maternal instincts took over," Peter spat, glaring up at Arthur as he pointedly tried to squeeze between the two blondes.

"That too," Arthur laughed, adjusting Peter so that he became part of the hug rather than breaking it. "My two boys," Arthur murmured a faraway look in his eyes. "Hmm. That would be nice, but I suppose it would have to be three if I were to include Alfred." He laughed again and shook his head. "Now I'm just rambling," he sighed; ignoring the murderous glare Peter sent him. "But either way, Matthew, I am glad you’re safe. I wanted to protect you, so I did." His eyebrows furrowed in worry and he sent a longing look toward the door. "I'm worried for Alfred though," he murmured. At this, worry instantly flooded Peter's features, and the two Britons cast worrying looks at the door, though neither dared to move toward it.

After what seemed like hours during which time much shouting and movement could be heard on the deck, at last things grew quiet and eventually the door opened again, revealing Francis whose hair and clothes were uncharacteristically rumpled and he seemed to be sweating with flushed cheeks.

“Well, ah, it seems that an agreement was reached... er that is to say, the Lithuanian was not found on our boats and Ivan has left. Though to pay Ivan back for the... the damages caused by Alfred, Antonio had to pay him off with his choice of the slaves below deck on his ship and far more gold than that scarf is rightly worth...” Francis shook his head. “But he sailing away as we speak.”

Mathieu’s face lit up and washed over with relief. He broke free from Arthur and ran to Francis, fiercely hugging him around the middle. “ _Papa! Ce qui est merveilleux!_ Though I feel bad for the slave he took...” Francis smiled gently at the boy and stroked his hair.

“That cannot be helped _mon chou_. Be glad that he has left, and that our friendship has not wavered.” Francis frowned a bit at this, though Mathieu could not see it with his face buried into the Frenchman’s chest. Arthur shared a look with Peter before the two rushed past the French, heading for the deck. When he reached him, Arthur swirled around madly, emerald eyes searching for the familiar golden haired American.

"Alfred!" Arthur screamed, holding the worried Peter close.

"ARTIE!"

Arthur spun around, relief washing over as he saw Alfred leaning over the railing of the Spanish ship. He smiled and the two ran to the railing. "Thank god Alfred," Arthur cried happily, "You’re not dead!"

"Nah, you taught me better," he replied sleepily, smiling warmly. At that moment, emerald eyes took in Alfred's shirtless form and the blood. He paled and covered Peter's eyes.

"Alfred, turn around," he commanded slowly.

"Ah, it's nothing Art," Alfred replied dismissively. "It's not as bad as it seems."

"I said turn around." With a heavy sigh, Alfred obeyed, exposing his shredded and tattered back to the Brit. "Dear god, what did he do to you," Arthur whispered in disgust, climbing onto the edge of the ship. Peter whimpered, but stayed close, sending cautious glances back to the other pirates.

"Art, don't do what I think you’re gonna do!" Alfred warned.

"The gap's not that big," Arthur replied dismissively. With that, he leapt grasping hold of the edge of the other ship and hoisting himself up. Alfred hugged Arthur tightly, making the man laugh. "Just like when you where young and unafraid to ask for help," he chuckled. He pulled off his shirt and began to rip it into strips. He silently worked on bandaging Alfred, ignoring the other pirates and keeping an eye on Peter, who watched from the French ship. Francis and Mathieu soon walked up behind people and frowned at Arthur and Alfred across on the Spanish ship.

“How did he... did he jump across? So reckless,” Francis sighed and rubbed his temple before turning to Mathieu. “Get Peter back on his chain and wash up for bed. The sun setting as it is, it’ll be dark very soon. Thank God for early supper, this took longer than I thought.” Mathieu nodded and turned to Peter.

“Your brother and friend will be fine, um, I’m sure so-“ Mathieu paused a moment and looked across the boat at Alfred and Arthur again. For a single moment, Mathieu’s eyes met Alfred’s and nearly bulged from his head. “ _N-non_ it can’t be...”

Francis noticed the odd look on Mathieu’s face and looked between him and Alfred for a moment before his own eyes widened. He tapped Mathieu on the shoulder and looked at him sternly. “To bed, Mathieu.”

“I-I, but-“ Mathieu shook his head slowly, still looking at the American in apparent shock. Alfred looked up, the voices having attracted his attention. Blue eyes widened as they met violet ones.

"Mattie?" He whispered hoarsely, disbelief in his eyes. Arthur looked up at once, having heard that name many times when Alfred was drunk.

"That's Mattie Williams?" Arthur asked, blinking in surprise. " _That_ Matthew?" Without a word, Alfred ripped away from Arthur and climbed onto the railing.

"Mattie!" He cried happily, blue eyes swimming with joyous tears. "Matt, I found you!" Alfred laughed and leapt across the boat, landing safely on the French ship.

"Alfred, be careful!" Arthur snapped, following in leaping across. Ignoring his friend, Alfred scooped his brother up in a tight hug, sobbing.

"God, I thought I'd never find you!" Alfred sobbed. "I almost gave up hope, oh god Matt. Mattie!"

Arthur watched from a distance, hanging back with a fond smile on his face. "Yet another thing to tie me to this ship," Arthur muttered bitterly.

“A-Alfred? Al! _Mon diu_ ,” Matthew gasped and threw his arms around his brother, holding tightly. “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry I left, I didn’t want to, I mean, well it... Alfred I’m so sorry, I can explain everything!”

Francis watched with fierce concern etching across his face. He glanced at Arthur on the other ship and the setting sun. “I think... I think many explanations may be in order... _zut_ , there’s been so much excitement already... _rosbif_ , do you need a plank to come back over here? Where IS Antonio...?” Francis muttered the last part.

“A-Al, your back!” Matthew had drawn away a bit and was quite startled to see his arms covered in blood from where Alfred had ripped his scabs open in that flying leap. Matthew’s eyes watered. “I-If I’d known it was you, I-I would’ve... I... I don’t know, but Alfred...” Matthew sniffled and threw himself into Alfred’s arms again.

"It's okay Mattie!" Alfred soothed, "It's just a flesh wound. What's more important is that we're here together." He smiled, ignoring the tears that fell. "Matt," he murmured, "I'm so glad I found you."

Arthur leapt across the gap, gripping the edge of the ship and hoisting himself up onto the French ship. He watched as Alfred swayed a bit, most likely from blood loss as the fresh blood ran down his body. With a sigh, Arthur ripped off more pieces of his shirt.

"Alfred, you’re bleeding," Arthur sighed. "As much as I want you to be with your brother, you need rest. Hell, you might not even be granted that!" Alfred ignored Arthur, instead choosing to cling to his brother tighter.

Matthew let out a squeak. “Y-you’re kind of c-crushing me now, Al...”

Francis shook his head and swept his blond hair from his eyes. “I suggest that we-“

“HEY FRANCIS! _MI AMIGO!_ HAVE YOU SEEN MY SLAVE?” Antonio appeared on his deck, waving.

Francis’ head jerked and he sighed. “ _Oui_ , he is here, he jumped across when he saw... ah, could I borrow him for the night? I will give him back straight away in the morning!”

Antonio spoke, but by then it was too dark to see his expression clearly. “Borrow him? Well I was going to have him start on inventory but I guess it’s okay? Just keep your promise; I really don’t want to have to count things anymore!”

“Do not worry about it, _mon ami_!” Francis assured him and then turned to the group on his deck. He realised they were drawing attention of other crewmembers that were still around. “Let us all go to my own cabin, _non_?” He deftly put his arm around Arthur’s waist and attempted to steer him toward his quarters. Matthew looked up from Alfred and nodded.

“ _Oui_ , Alfred, I’ll explain there,” Matthew nodded swiftly, tugging on Alfred to follow.

Arthur scowled at Francis, but said nothing about the arm around his waist; instead he chose to follow the two brothers. Peter, on the other hand, growled and pushed his ways between his brother and the pirate. Peter sent a glare at Francis and held the confused Arthur's hand. The group made their way into the captain's quarters, and Arthur closed the door.

"Okay, please explain Matthew," Arthur said, "I've heard Alfred's side too many times."

Matthew paused a moment and sent Francis a worried expression. Francis sighed and gestured for him to go on, giving a small, encouraging smile. Matthew bit his lip, but began to speak, just loud enough to be heard.

“Well, you probably know this already, but when Alfred and I were very young both our parents were lost to sickness in America. Er, well at least that’s what Alfred would tell me. I was only five at the time and he was seven. We didn’t have any other relatives to take us in, so we kind of fell in among the, um, the street urchins. They didn’t really like me, I don’t think, because I was very small and weak. Alfred was strong though, and would beat up anyone who tried to hurt me or take my food, so we were okay. Alfred was pretty popular among them and got really good at stealing, but I usually got in the way. This went on about three years.” Matthew took a shaky breath before continuing.

“One day, when I was eight, there were rumors going around that there were French pirates in port and Alfred told me to stay away from anyone speaking French. But he was out late on a raid with some of the other boys and I was really worried that they had been caught by the pirates so I went out looking for him, even though he always told me never to do that. I went to the docks and bumped into... into the captain. He was a bit angry at first, I think, because I got dirt on his outfit when I ran into him calling for my brother and he grabbed my arm. He started speaking French, and I got scared because I didn’t understand him and I assumed he was one of the pirates. Then I looked up at him and he seemed angry... but suddenly he didn’t.”

“That’s because I saw how incredibly adorable you were, _mon petit chou_ ,” Francis added in, causing Matthew to blush brightly.

“Er... well for whatever reason, he wasn’t angry and started speaking French again, but quietly. Then I think he saw how confused I was because he switched to English and asked me where my parents were. I told him they were dead and he... and he told me that he would take me with him, then. I started stammering, I think, and he just picked me up and started walking. I tried to explain about you, Alfred, but Francis just told me to hush and that everything would be okay... I think he either wasn’t listening or couldn’t hear me properly. Eventually he took me to the inn he was staying at. He made me take a bath and then had me wear one of his shirts to sleep in. I tried to sneak out after he fell asleep, but when I opened the door there were other French pirates guarding the door and I got scared and went back to bed. The next day he got me new clothes... and fed me really good food. I mean, I-I couldn’t remember ever eating so well before. Then um... then I tried to explain about you, Alfred, again and he said... h-he said...”

“I told him to forget about his brother,” Francis finished for him, his eyes cold. “As far as I was concerned, there was an adorable little boy living in the streets and whatever older brother he had clearly hadn’t been taking good enough care of him judging by how undernourished he looked. And anyway, he was quite the treasure to have, with that face and those rare violet eyes, so I was going to take him regardless. It was not as if he had a mother waiting for him.”

Matthew frowned and hugged himself a bit before continuing. “Not long after that he took me to his ship. He tried to keep me in his cabin until we had gotten out to sea, but I did manage to slip onto the deck just as we left port. I managed to climb up onto the side of the boat and... and I saw you there, with your friends, watching the ship. And I saw you Al a-and I... and I started calling out to you and you started yelling something and then... and then Francis came and pulled me off the side and told me t-to forget about you, a-again... I didn’t speak to him or anyone for a week and wouldn’t eat anything either. But I... I don’t know the captain was just really... kind... to me.” Matthew shook his head. “I gave in eventually, and told him about you, and our parents and everything and... and he started to teach me French. He did become the closest thing to a father I can remember. But I never forgot you Al! I-I always hoped we’d meet again someday.” Matthew sniffled again and Francis folded his arms, his expression unusually neutral.

"After I saw you get taken away, I lost it," Alfred admitted. "I became a menace to everyone and everything. So I stowed away on a ship to England, hoping to somehow make it to France to find you, but,” Alfred stared up at Arthur, laughter in his eyes. "The next ship I stowed away on was a British Navel," Alfred laughed. "Peter was the one who found me. I remember him trying to take me to Arthur, but I attacked him. Arthur came down and beat the living hell outta me." The two blondes laughed, reminiscing.

"After that, Alfred told me everything," Arthur explained. "After demanding I take him to France of course. I sympathized for him and enrolled him in the Navel as a powder monkey."

"There was the chance I would find you," Alfred explained. "I wanted to find you with the promise of wealth and status in booming England. Plus, there was the chance of finding you on any of the pirate ships that traveled the Channel. Most of which were French." Alfred hugged his brother tightly.

"Everything I did was for you," he murmured. "I still celebrated your birthday every year. I even saved your teddy bear, although I don't know where it is cause of the raid. Arthur was a huge help. He was like Dad in so many ways; I couldn't help but cling to Peter and him." Alfred smiled, fat tears rolling down his face. "Mattie, everything I did was for you, and now I found you!"Alfred laughed happily. "I don't know what you want to do, but Matt, I'll follow you anywhere. I want to be here with you. I wanna be your brother again, I wanna protect you. Whatever or wherever you wanna go or do, I'll follow." Arthur looked away, hiding the pained look on his face. Alfred was the closest thing to a son besides Peter. Seeing the possibility of him leaving was painful.

“A teddy bear?” Francis shook his head, “No one would’ve removed it from the ship, so it probably sank with it.”

“Shit, Matt, I'm sorry!" Alfred wailed. "I know how much you loved that bear!"

“That’s fine,” Matthew said softly, “It was only a toy. Um...” Matthew looked up at Alfred with soft eyes. “Well, I-I’m not sure exactly what I want to do but... for now I want to stay with Francis.”

“It is not as if I would allow you to leave anyway. The world is far too dangerous for a cute young boy such as you! I would worry far too much!” Francis said sharply.

Matthew bit his lip again. “Yes but, that’s not the only reason to stay... I um...” suddenly Matthew blushed and looks down. “Well I... I’m used to living here now, th-this ship is my home.”

“ _Oui_ ,” Francis nodded. “Not to mention that Alfred now belongs to my dear friend and I expect him to return to that ship in the morning. Obviously you will both still see each other frequently, but I will not have you jumping across ships without permission anymore. It is dangerous. Now, I expect Mathieu to take his brother to his own room with Peter and get some sleep before morning. Do you understand?”

“ _Oui, capitaine_ ,” Mathieu took Alfred’s hand and tugged him to the door, turning to gesture for Peter to follow as well. “Come on, Peter, i-it’ll be like a sleepover, okay?”

Alfred smiled at Francis. Peter scowled. "Well, expect me to hang around a LOT then!" Alfred laughed loudly. Alfred looked down at Peter's scowl, so similar to Arthur's. "Pete, c'mon!" Alfred urged. Arthur blinked and turned back. Peter quickly rushed to Arthur. The Englishman spun him around, gave him a firm kiss on the forehead, and nudged him in the direction of the door. Peter glanced longingly at Arthur before slipping his hand into Alfred's, pointedly ignoring Matthew.

Arthur sighed as the door swung shut, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. "God I hate my life right now," he sighed, rubbing his temples.

Francis sighed and leaned against the wall, rubbing his forehead. “Well, things could’ve been worse than that. But this day certainly has been... eventful...” The Frenchman bore a sharp frown and looked toward Arthur. Suddenly his lips quirked upward. “Judging by how you’ve acted today, I would think young Alfred should be calling you ‘mom’ instead of ‘dad’, you were very maternal of Peter and _mon Mathieu_ when Ivan came to call, like a bear defending her cubs.” Francis chuckled. Arthur blushed, suddenly defensive as he stared at France in a mixture of surprise and fury.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN MUM?!" He cried. "I may be protective of the boys, but that doesn't make me feminine! I simply acted as the situation demanded!"

“ _Oui_ , just like a woman,” Francis grinned and stalked towards Alfred now, like a cat stalking prey. “But of course I meant that as a compliment,” he snatched up Arthur’s hand and brought it to his lips, “You make a beautiful woman, _cheri_.” Arthur blushed, at loss for words. He yanked his hand away, scowling at the Frenchman.

"You’re a wanker!" He huffed; feeling insulted his pride wounded by being compared to a female. Although Arthur had the highest respect for females, he didn't want to be compared to them.

Francis chuckled softly and drew closer to Arthur, backing him against the wall and putting his hands on either side of the Englishman’s head, boxing him in. “There’s no need to call me such a name, especially when you’re here _cheri_ ,” Francis punctuated this by leaning in to nibble on Arthur’s ear, bringing one hand down to lay on Arthur’s slim waist.

Arthur tensed, squeezing his eyes shut and pushing away with enough force to send Francis falling back onto the ground. He stared, looking just as surprised as the Frenchman who looked up at him from the floor. Millions of emotions and thoughts ran through Arthur's mind before settling on something he knew he would probably regret later. He knelt down and crawled over Francis, ignoring the heat he felt emanating from his blushing face. "I'm g-going to p-prove how manly I am!" He said stubbornly, shy emerald eyes meeting cerulean ones. Without a second thought, Arthur crashed his lips against Francis's closing his eyes so not too see his own actions.

“Mmf?” Francis made a shocked noise as Arthur’s lips met his, but he was far from complaining. Giving a light chuckle, Francis enfolded Arthur into a tight embrace, laying back on the floor with Arthur on top of him, and then quickly rolling over so that the Englishman was beneath him again. Francis grinned. “Very manly indeed, _lapin_ , but I’m hardly going to let you top without a fight,” the Frenchman snorted, “You’d probably be terrible at it.”

Arthur let out a whine and struggled in the man's arms. With a determined scowl, Arthur brought Francis down for a fierce kiss, his finger giving sharp tugs to Francis's hair. He was going to top, or at least make the man scream his name before the night was up. Arthur's pride demanded that much. Francis was quick to battle Arthur’s tongue, both men fighting for dominance. Francis refused to give in, trapping Arthur fast to the floor with his heavier body and suddenly breaking from Arthur’s mouth, moving down to his neck and sucking hard, trying to leave the darkest hickey he could manage, to prove that he had been there and claimed the Englishman as his.

Panting and dazzled, Arthur involuntarily exposed more skin to Francis. He wrapped his legs around the other man's torso and used them to flip them over, Francis's lips never leaving his neck. For a moment, as Francis ran his hands down his spine, Arthur cursed his shiftlessness. He pulled away and lowered himself between Francis's legs, staring innocently at the Frenchman as he rested his chin on the growing bulge.

Francis’ eyes widened as he viewed the Englishman in what he would consider an undeniably attractive position, and he felt himself grow harder by the second. He grunted and managed to smirk while propping himself up on his elbows. “Perhaps while _le Anglais_ is down there he could put his sharp tongue to good use, _non_?”

"Maybe,” Arthur teased, smirking. He turned his face, his cheek to the hard on and nuzzled it in an almost loving manner. His hands crept up and held Francis's hips down so the Frenchman could not thrust forward. Arthur continued his nuzzling; humming a small tune that he knew Francis could feel on his cock.

Francis let out a soft moan that grew in volume as Arthur began to hum. “Ah, from virgin to tease so fast? I-I always suspected the English w-were prone to slutty behaviour,” Francis tried to move into Arthur’s touch but was getting frustrated with being held down. He gripped the backs of Arthur’s hands.

"I said I would prove my manliness," Arthur hummed, his grip on the other man's hips becoming tighter. "Maybe you shouldn't have called me feminine and I probably would've been on my back." Blushing at his words, Arthur looked up at Francis and added. "Unwillingly of course." Arthur sat up, pulling his hands on his lap and staring down at the Frenchman in curiosity. He cocked his head, Emerald and sapphire meeting each other again. " _Que voulez-vous que je fasse, la grenouille_?" Arthur murmured, doe eyes staring at the panting French.

Francis whined a little and closed his eyes to think through his arousal. It was difficult. “I want you... I want you to take me to the back of your throat and swallow everything you draw out of me.”

Arthur blinked a few times before the words actually registered in his mind. He swallowed nervously, but unfastened Francis's pants and pulled them down, freeing the Frenchman's arousal. He bit his lip, anxiety building in his chest. He shook his head clear and tentatively wrapped his lips around the tip of the head, which was releasing pre-cum.

“Ah!” Francis threw his head back at the feeling of the Englishman’s lips. “ _Mon diu_ Arthur...” Francis’ breathing hitched as Arthur took more of him into his mouth. “Perhaps it is the month at sea without this sort of thing but that feels _merveilleux_!” Arthur ignored the Frenchman, focused on trying to take more of the stiff rod in his mouth. He quickly pulled back when it hit his gag reflex, coughing and sputtering.

Francis’ eyes widened and he reached forward to entwine a hand into Arthur’s hair, brushing through it soothingly. “Careful, _lapin_ , no one is that good at first, you need to work your way up, only as much as you are comfortable with, _non_?” Arthur blinked, before nodding, a slight smile on his face. He leaned back down and took it back in his mouth, softly sucking.

_'I suppose I can thank Alfred for always telling me of his nightly escapades_ ,' he thought bitterly. 'At least I have an idea.'

Francis moaned as his manhood was engulfed again, laying back on the floor fully in enjoyment. “Nng, harder, _lapin_ , suck just a bit harder, and use your tongue... oh!” Arthur obeyed, putting more force into his sucking. After a bit of contemplation, he slid his tongue under the shaft, giving it a slow and curious lick.

Francis’ moans grew in volume as he spread his legs out for the Englishman, his toes curling and uncurling in his excitement. “ _Oui, oui_ , just like that, _juste un peu plus!_ ” Francis groaned loudly as Arthur pleasured him. It had been so long that even the inexperienced tongue felt like heaven.

Giving a couple more questioning licks; he felt a thick salty fluid flow into his mouth. Hearing the Frenchman's content sigh, it took a couple seconds before it registered in his mind what was in his mouth. He pulled back quickly, spitting it out, wincing as some of the fluids managed to slither down his throat.  
"That's disgusting!" He spat, hurriedly rubbing away the mortifying cum that dribbled down his chin.

“D-disgusting?” Francis panted as he looked at Arthur, panting. Suddenly he realised and laughed. “ _Non_ , it is only natural! It is my wine of appreciation! It’s rude to spit you know,” Francis added in a giggle, “But I will forgive you just this once, since it’s your first time.” Francis struggled to his feet and went to his bed, laying back and crooking a finger to get Arthur to come toward him again. Arthur walked over, but rather than crawl on the Frenchman or anything else, he slipped under the covers, yawning tiredly. He stared up at Francis's shocked expression with drowsy emerald eyes.

Francis sighed and lay back on the covers for a moment before sitting up again and smirking down at the Brit. “Well, I suppose you got me off once, that’s enough for now.” He reached down to ruffle Arthur’s hair. “You’re being rather oddly cute though. I wonder if you plan to stab me in the back before I wake up.”

"Maybe I will," Arthur snapped, trying to bite Francis's hand, but the Frenchman pulled away. He sighed.  
"I'm just tired from everything today," he admitted. "I just want to sleep."

Francis regarded Arthur with a raised eyebrow for a moment before shaking his head and getting under the blanket as well. “I just want you aware that, should you stab me, Mathieu would be very upset.”

"Hmm, I'll debate on that," Arthur yawned, nuzzling into the pillows. He closed his eyes and smiled contently, loving the softness all around him. Feeling eyes on him, he opened one emerald orb and looked up to meet Francis's blue ones.

"I won't stab you, just stop being a creeper frog," he growled without real malice or effort.

“Hmm, very well, _rosbif_ ,” Francis reached over to the bedside table to extinguish the oil lamp that had been burning there. The room plunged into darkness. To Arthur’s surprise, Francis didn’t attempt to touch him as they fell asleep, he did not even move to the Brit’s side of the bed until dawn when he shook him awake for another day’s work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH. 6 Translations
> 
> Je vais vous garder en sécurité - (French) I'll keep you safe
> 
> Que voulez-vous que je fasse, la grenouille? - (French) What do you want me to do, frog?
> 
> juste un peu plus- (French) just a bit more


	7. Shifting

**Chapter 7: Shifting**

Life on the French pirate ship was not as bad as Arthur had imagined it'd be. He wasn't given hard duties, just small various cleaning tasks around the ship. When the crew found out about his ability to speak French, as hard as he had tried to hide it, they had accepted him a bit more. This made his life a bit easier. He did, however, routinely help Yao in the kitchen. The two became fast friends, sharing mischievous stories of their childhoods and excitedly swapping 'Little Brother' stories often. Whenever possible, Arthur would persuade Yao to try letting him cook; in the end the two agreed that tea was the only thing the Briton was allowed to make. Ever.

Thanks to both Yao and Matthew's persistence, Francis had granted Arthur an hour a day to be with Peter. The two would spend the hour trying to forget the world by painstakingly planning their escape, or simply talking to each other. Peter, although it had taken nearly three weeks, had finally opened up to Matthew and looked up to him as much as he did to Alfred. The two brothers had grown inseparable. Rushing through his chores and duties, Alfred would leap the gap to the French ship from the Spanish one whenever they were close enough together. At first, Antonio had been against Alfred seeing Matthew, but after having Lovino scream at the Spanish man for being a 'stupid cold-hearted tomato bastard who would probably do the same to him and Feli if given the chance,' he stopped caring. With that, the two brothers spent hours simply catching up with each other's lives.

Matthew had long since abandoned any hope of teaching Alfred any French after the American proclaimed it 'Un-heroic.' Matthew, with coaxing from Alfred, had grown close to Arthur, and the Englishman found himself growing fond of the French, or rather Canadian as Alfred would continuously correct, boy. The thing that bothered Arthur the most from his stay on the ship was Francis.

Sex had become a nightly routine for the two, an unspoken thing as their lips crashed together. Arthur had found himself in one too many positions with Francis that he would rather never have known about. During the day, if given the chance to, Francis would make all kinds of lewd and sexual jokes or comments to Arthur, always eager to get touchy feely with the Briton. Yet in the dark, when their nightly dance was over and Arthur left panting in the aftermath of sex, Francis never touched him. At first, it had made the Englishman feel calmer; Arthur didn’t want the man he swore to hate to hold him in such a vulnerable state. After a while, he began to wonder if something was wrong. He'd never admit it, but he yearned to be held. He wanted Francis to show something toward him, after all of this, but he knew better than to genuinely expect anything. He was thinking wishfully, hoping still that the first night might've made some sort of an impact on Francis.

' _You stay with the one you give yourself to Arthur_!' His older brother William had told him once. _'Doesn't matter who or why, but you stay with them, unlike our whore of a mother_!'

Arthur stared out at the vast blue expanse, his chin propped on one hand as he stared, calmed by the beauty of the sea. They would be in port soon, the crew had been told, and one of the nicer crewmembers had told Arthur. The Englishman was torn between fleeing with Peter or staying with Alfred, Matthew, Yao, and Francis.

Arthur suddenly felt a pair of arms encircle his waist, a bit too close to his vitals for comfort. A chin rested itself in a familiar way on his shoulder. “ _Bonjour lapin_ , watching for land?” a low voice whispered into his ear as a few fingers slipped into the waistband of the Englishman’s trousers. This kind of greeting was becoming the norm, and Arthur couldn’t figure out how the frog became so good at sneaking up behind him. It was downright disconcerting. “You know if you try to escape, I will hunt you down and kill you and your _petit frere, non_?” This, too, had become a common reminder at odd intervals, though after learning that Arthur knew they were approaching port these reminders had become even more frequent, nearly every time Francis passed him on the ship he would be sure to hiss it into his ear.

"Wasn't planning on leaving, frog," he lied easily, glaring acidly that his peaceful alone time had been interrupted. He slapped away the hand that was going lower and lower and turned in Francis's arms to glare up at him.

"ART!" Said man's attention was drawn as Peter and Matthew walked over to them. Peter immediately shoved his way between the two, ignoring Francis as he hugged Arthur.

"Art! Guess what Mattie taught me!" He beamed proudly. "He taught me to count to three in French!"  
Arthur laughed, ruffling Peter's hair and turned to smile warmly at Matthew.

"Hello Matthew," he said brightly. "Teaching him to count to three alone must've been difficult; Lord knows he refused to learn how to count to one with me." Peter smiled brightly, giggling when Matthew's face gained a weary expression.

“It was difficult, but it helped when I taught him this one pun, um, the one that has the cats named ‘one two three’ and ‘un deux trois’ trying to cross the Channel, though I don’t think he completely understands it yet since he apparently doesn’t understand four or five. I think he just finds it funny to think of the French cat drowning...” Matthew tried to brighten his expression when he turned to Francis. “Do you know if land has been spotted yet?”

Francis shook his head. “ _Non_ , not yet, but by my calculation we should be there by this evening. Speaking of which, when we make port no one leaves the ship unaccompanied, and no one goes anywhere alone without me or one of the crewmembers I will assign you. That goes for you as well, Mathieu. It’s not just about escape attempts; this is a pirate port. It is dangerous to go wandering off alone.”

“ _Oui capitaine_ , I understand,” Matthew nodded, used to this rule.

"No one's getting to Mattie without me breaking their face in!" Alfred called from the Spanish ship, lazily hanging on the railing. "I'd fuck 'em up just for looking at Mat wrongly."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but believed every word the American said. One thing that had progressed between the two brothers was that Alfred had grown increasingly protective of his brother. Arthur, unbothered by the other two, knelt down to see eye to eye with Peter.

"Do you hear that Peter? Don't go off alone," Arthur instructed firmly. "I know you won't listen to a word Francis says, so listen to me. Do NOT go off alone, no matter how good you are at sneaking about. You stay with me, Matthew, or Alfred at all times. Even if you have to, you'll stay with Francis." Peter scowled, but nodded, causing Arthur to smile and pick him up.

"Hey Art? Can we get candy at port?" Peter asked curiously. Arthur laughed, but shot Francis a curious look.

“Candy? I don’t see why not, and if Gilbert and Antonio make enough money selling slaves then they may treat us all to dinner as well!” Francis smiled and glanced at Alfred a moment before turning to Matthew again. “I do not have a problem with you spending time with your brother, of course, but it is up to Antonio whether he is even allowed off of his ship. He likely will be as Antonio is not a cruel man and he knows that Alfred will not leave if you are with me, but I would still rather you both don’t go wandering around just the two of you.” Matthew nodded in response and Francis clapped his hands together. “ _Bon_! Oh, and one more requirement, when we’re in port everyone is required to have a bath. You all smell horribly.”

“ _Papa_!” Matthew gasped without thinking, looking mortified.

Francis shrugged. “I cannot help it, it is true. Speaking of which, I need to restock my rose scented perfume while in port...”  Arthur rolled his eyes but looked down at Peter, running hand through the boy's shaggy hair. A frown slowly crossed his features and he lifted a hand to his own head, finding it much longer.

"Maybe I'll get Jacques to take us out for a haircut," Arthur said offhandedly, thinking of the burly French man who was friendly with Arthur.

"But! I LIKE my hair long!" Peter protested.

"You look like a bloody frog," Arthur said, tugging on his own hair. "Besides, it freaks me out having long hair."

"Artie, that's just your paranoia acting up" Alfred called, a smirk in his voice. "I think ya look damn sexy with long hair!"

"I look weird," Arthur scoffed. "And that comment was really awkward!"

“Hmm, I agree with Alfred, I think,” Francis sent Arthur a wink, “Long hair is the fashion in France of course, but as your hair is naturally messy it gives you sort of a rebellious look, _non_? Very intriguing to young ladies. Of course you’re not to be gallivanting with the young ladies at port, that’s my job.” The Frenchman grinned. Arthur pulled his hair again, deciding against mentioning his angst-y rebellious teenage-hood.

"We're still getting it cut," Arthur said, looking down at Peter. "Even if I have to cut it myself." Peter pouted, sighing in defeat after a challenging glare from Arthur.

"Hey Artie, do you think you could pick up some new glasses for me?" Alfred asked, flipping his long bangs out of his face. "These broke in a fight."

"It's a wonder you haven't been killed in your sleep with how many enemies you have on that ship," Arthur scoffed. "But alright."

Matthew sighed. “Al will be fine. Even if he’s made enemies over there, he’s on good enough terms with Antonio, Miguel and the Vargas brothers. That’s all he really needs as a defense as long as he can hold his own but... I wish he’d be more careful.” Matthew sent his brother a worried look.

"I can't wait to see land again," Peter sighed contently, resting his head on Arthur's shoulder. "We're docking in France, right?"

"That's what they said," Arthur replied. "Do you miss Briton?"

"Yes," Peter replied sadly, homesickness reflecting in baby blue eyes.

Francis looked at Arthur and Peter a moment and then scoffed. “Well we’re certainly not going _there_. Even if I wanted to be around a bunch of disgusting English all day, I don’t need the chance of being hung if they found out I was keeping one of their naval captains prisoner.”

“Um, _Papa_ , you kind of already surrounded by English people...” Matthew pointed out. Francis looked around at Arthur, Peter, Alfred and finally Matthew.

Looking as though he just realised this, Francis quickly hugged Matthew into his side. “Ah, but Mathieu, being Canadian makes you half French! If it were not for you, I could never tolerate such an atmosphere!”

"Keep eating the cake and it'll turn out to be a lie," Arthur and Peter said simultaneously, neither bothering to turn to see their confused faces.

"It means stop lying to yourself," Alfred explained, laughing. "Those two are weird like that."

"Up yours, Alfred," Arthur muttered, knowing the American heard him.

"I miss the cliffs the most," Peter said quietly. Arthur nodded, missing the small village the two had lived in, a small village by the Cliffs of Dover.

Francis looked at the two brothers awkwardly for a moment before shrugging. “Well, it’s best to forget such things. Perhaps you will see them again, but more likely not, or not for a long time, so I would just forget about it.”

Matthew’s expression darkened. “Which means shut up about it.”

Francis bit his lip and glanced down at the Canadian. “It... it may be true I don’t wish to hear about it, but it is also for their own good. Dwelling on things that can’t be fixed...  that you can’t see again...” Francis paused now, staring into space a moment before shivering and shaking his head. “It’s... it’s ridiculous. No good can come of it. All you can do is move forward! New experiences! New loves! New friends! New homes!” Francis laughed, though sounding a bit wild about it.

“ _Papa_?” Matthew asked, suddenly sounding worried.

Francis’ laughter died down, suddenly, and he looked uncharacteristically serious. “I... I will be in my cabin for a while, I think. Be sure to tell me if land is spotted.” Giving a nod, Francis released Matthew and headed off across the deck toward his quarters. Matthew looked shocked, then sad and sighed softly.

“I doubt he’ll ever tell me why he says things like that...”

Arthur looked at Francis's retreating back. He had turned around when Francis had started his crazy ramblings, but had said nothing. Worry was etched into his face, bringing about a jealous scowl on Peter.

"The frog's crazy," the boy muttered, watching his brother's eyes take a faraway look.

" _Nac ydy, dim ond unig_ ," ((No, he's just lonely)) Arthur whispered, more to himself, unknowingly falling into Welsh. Peter stared at his brother, unsure of what exactly had come out of the older Englishman's mouth. The Englishman stared out to sea again, his emerald eyes flashing as memories or some unknown entity stole Arthur's attention. Alfred jumped over, safely handing on the other ship. He roughly clapped Arthur on the back; bring the smaller man back to reality.

"Hey man, the Frenchie's weird," Alfred said brightly, his blue eyes filled with curiosity and concern. "Frenchies ain't like Canadians, dude." Alfred pulled his brother into a one armed hug, ruffling Matthew's hair.

"And you," Alfred said brightly, poking his brother's nose, "Shouldn't worry about the Frenchie either. Shit's on his mind, and he won't open up, then he's doomed to fall into a dark depression."

"Way to be philosophical Al," Peter muttered lightly. Alfred laughed.

"All this melancholy crap is bugging me out," Alfred replied with a shrug. He turned to Arthur, his blue eyes serious.

"So Artie, will you tell us the story in your head?" He asked, smiling. Arthur shrugged.

"If you want," Arthur replied curtly. "It isn't a good one, Alfred."

"I know," was the only reply he got.

Matthew had given Alfred a small, polite smile, but his worried gaze returned, though now he faced Arthur. “A story?”

"It's not so much as a story, but a memory from my childhood," Arthur replied. His emerald eyes trailed back to a far away land. "I suppose it's because Francis acted the way he did. He reminded me of my brother."

Alfred cocked his head and asked, "About Scott?"

"No, Edward," Arthur replied, shaking his head. "He had a lover once. Loved her as he never loved anyone in his life. She brought out a gentle side to him. A side I had seen many times before when Will and Scott left him to patch me up after a terribly brutal beating. The two were so in love, they planned to be wed soon. This infuriated Scott, and so in an act of rage he killed her. Edward wept so bitterly, he was never the same. To me it seemed as though he lived day by day, too afraid to plan farther than three days. He never looked back on the past and was fiercely violent whenever he found someone caught up in the past. Never gave up loving her, I think." A small stretch of silence followed Arthur's completion of his memory.

Alfred broke it, an unreadable expression on his face, "Just another way Scott kept everyone under his reign."

Arthur smiled bitterly, but nodded. "The man ruled with fear, but rewarded with pride. He knew how to keep all of us by his side."

Matthew cocked his head to one side. “Edward stayed with him, even though he knew Scott killed his lover? But... but why would he do that?”

"Well, I'm not sure why." Arthur replied, his eyebrows furrowing and his eyelids slipping closed. "I remember Scott taking Edward for a walk through the woods. We lived in Wales at the time, and a forest grew practically on our back porch. When they came back, Edward seemed to blame himself for Arisa's death. Scott just had this way that made you feel like everything was your fault, and he loved to make me feel like my entire world consisted of him and then next little mind game he would play. Edward, I assume, found himself on the wrong side of Scott's temper and was twisted to suit Scott's desire. Besides, during those times, Scott was all we had. Mum never did anything for us, so he had to rely on Scott, who was our God." Arthur made a face, his eyes still closed. "A twisted sort of God I suppose. No one ever told on Scott, and Edward learned to go through the motions of life."

“I... I see...” Matthew bit his lip. At that moment, a loud voice was heard calling from the Spanish ship.

“HEY, AMERICAN _BASTARDO_!” Lovino screamed across the gap, “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE HELPING FELI IN THE KITCHEN TODAY, GET BACK OVER HERE!” Alfred rolled his eyes. He gave Matthew a quick hug and patted Arthur on the back while ruffling Peter's hair.

"HE'S GOT IT COVERED HE SAID!" Alfred yelled back, swinging onto the railing. "HE STARTED CRYING WHEN I MADE MY KICK ASS AWESOME SANDWICH!"

"It's a hamburger Alfred, not a sandwich," Arthur sighed irritably.

"Same shit," Alfred snipped back. "See ya guys later!" With that, he jumped across, landing next to Lovino. He poked Lovino's forehead before racing off, laughing loudly and fleeing from the raging Italian.

"Boy never learns," Arthur sighed, shaking his head. Peter smiled. "I think I'm going to go check up on Francis," Arthur said suddenly. "I just have this feeling."

"No," Peter grumbled angrily, burying his face in Arthur's neck.

Matthew bit his lip slightly and met Arthur’s eyes. “Do you... do you want me to take Peter, or go check on the captain myself, do you think?”

"All three of us should go," Arthur said, putting Peter down. "If anything, Peter can wait outside."  
Peter said nothing, instead choosing to scowl and hold Arthur's hand. "I'm sure you’re as worried about Francis as I am," Arthur continued. "I don't see the problem in all three of us going."

Matthew suddenly looked surprised. “You’re worried about him?”

Arthur blushed. "M-Maybe," Arthur replied, before shaking his head. "I mean no! Not at all!"

Matthew looked at Arthur a moment longer, before a shy, amused smile crossed his lips. “Alright, let’s go then,” he said, leading the way to the captain’s quarters. He knocked on the door.

“ _Papa_! May we come in?”

There was shuffling on the other side of the door, though it did not open. “H-has land been spotted so soon? I-I was sure it would be much later...”

“ _Non Papa_ , please, can we just speak with you?”

There was silence for a moment, and then Francis’ voice was heard again, quieter. “ _Non, mon petit_ , it would be best if I could spend some time... some time alone just now, you understand, _oui_?”

“Er...” Matthew looked at Arthur helplessly.

"Francis," Arthur began, blinking uncertainly. How the bloody hell would he pull this off? With a sigh, he continued, "Let me in Francis. I want to talk to you. If you don’t want to, then at least, if only to stop Matthew's and my own worry, let me see that your fine." He stared sadly at the door.

There was silence for a moment longer before the door slowly opened. The room inside was dark, but the light from the sun illuminated Francis. His hair looked a bit dishevelled and his eyes looked a bit pink and puffy. He cleared his throat. “I... I am fine, of course! No need to worry, Mathieu,” the Frenchman forced a very false-looking smile at his surrogate son that only made the boy’s eyes widen.

Arthur blinked curiously, but held his surprise in. Without thinking, Arthur pushed the door open a bit wider and pulled Francis into an embrace. "You’re not fine," Arthur murmured. "Don't lie like that, it hurts you. Trust me, I know.”

Francis stared down Arthur, looking absolutely stunned. “I... I-um...” The Frenchman shook his head sharply and pushed Arthur back from him slightly to look at him in the eyes. The Frenchman took a deep breath and gave him a hard look. “You are speaking out of turn. If I wish to lie to anyone, I will. I am a pirate, _non_? And some things are best left alone.” With that, he pushed Arthur out of the room and closed the door again. Matthew reached out and put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Um, th-thank you for trying, I-I’m sure he’ll feel better when we reach port. Some wine and the port ladies usually get him out of these kind of moods.” Arthur smiled and nodded. Every fiber in his smile screamed fake, but he knew to everyone else it was realistic. He had smiled that smile too many times before.

"Right," Arthur sighed. "Now who wants to go and bug Yao for something sweet?" Turning to two enthusiastic faces, he laughed and led them under deck to bother the Asian man. Hours later, Alfred stood next to Matthew, land in sight.

"It'll be good to be on solid earth again," Peter said happily, gripping both Arthur and Matthew's hands. Arthur nodded, watching France grow closer.

\-- --

Once firmly docked in port, Francis was on the deck again, looking tidied up at least. He went to the deck to pay for their right to dock for a few days and made sure there were armed crewmembers still aboard his ship to guard it before going to speak with Gilbert and Antonio. After a while, the Frenchman returned to Matthew, Arthur and Peter, Alfred in tow.

“I’ve spoken with Antonio and he said that as Alfred could get in the way of their slave selling anyway, he may stay with Matthew while in port for a while. Your _Papa_ is very persuasive, _non_?” Francis grinned at Matthew who blushed and thanked the captain before greeting his brother. “Now then, shall we head to the inn? Antonio and Gilbert will be staying there as well with their important crew members, but of course while in port everyone will have to take a day to guard the ship so that nothing is stolen and everyone has a good time, so at some point Alfred will be expected to help with that for a day or so. That is not going to cause a problem, I trust?”

"Of course not," Alfred replied, still hugging his brother. He smiled at Arthur, who was carrying Peter in his arms again.

"Well Captain?" Alfred said, specifically to Arthur. "YOUR orders, sir?" Arthur stared at Alfred, unsure.

"Let's just settle down," Arthur replied. "And by God, DON'T cause trouble here."

Alfred laughed jubilantly, "Aye Cap!"

Francis frowned sharply at Alfred, but decided not to comment on it, at least not at the moment. Instead the group met up with Gilbert who had his brother and first mate Ludwig in tow, and Antonio who stood with Miguel and the Vargas brothers. To Arthur’s surprise, Feliciano Vargas became extremely happy upon seeing Ludwig and bounced over to start talking to the German man who appeared extremely flustered by the event.

Meanwhile, Gilbert fell into step with Matthew as they headed in mass for the inn, but after a few brief words exchanged, Francis dropped back between them and shot Gilbert a fierce warning look the Canadian didn’t see. The Prussian snorted and backed off, leaving Matthew looking confused and a bit hurt until Francis wrapped an arm around his shoulders and sped him up near the front of the group beside Alfred. Finally they reached the inn, and started to work out rooms. Gilbert and Ludwig would be sharing, Feliciano and Lovino both were in a room with Antonio but Miguel got a smaller room to himself, Alfred and Matthew were allowed a room together with Peter, and of course, Francis insisted that Arthur continue to share a room with him for ‘easy access’ purposes.

Once everyone was settled in, Francis gave the word that they would be allowed to spend some time to themselves before dinner, and disappeared into his room that he shared with the Englishman. As Arthur sat on the bed in bemusement, the Frenchman began to primp himself up, putting on some of his finer attire and tidying his hair.

"You’re acting like a complete woman," Arthur musing. "Being clean is good but there's only so much you can do." The Englishman himself had simply washed his face and ran his fingers through his hair and deemed himself ready before the Frenchman even had begun. Now he simply waited, changed into a new set of clothes as he watched Francis beautify himself.

Francis scoffed. “This is why you Englishmen are so unstylish; you take no time with such things! If you did I’m sure you would have your choice of ladies, as I do,” Francis winked at Arthur and smirked as he added a touch of colour to his cheeks before giving a twirl in the mirror to be sure he was properly made up. “Now then, shall we go to dinner? It should be about time, and I’m sure that the working women who’ve heard I’m in town are simply _aching_ to see me.” The Frenchmen let out an excited laugh and made his way to the door, gesturing for Arthur to follow him.

Arthur rolled his eyes but followed Francis as he led him out of the hotel room and down the steps.  
"Hope Alfred keeps his in his pants," Arthur muttered to himself, already seeing Alfred surrounded by women. He shook his head and took a step to distance himself away from Francis as they stepped out into the street. Francis glanced at Arthur and seemed about to comment on his movement when suddenly he had both his arms full of beautiful, busty women in rather revealing outfits.

“Hon hon hon, Fleur! Gabrielle! _Il a été_ _trop longtemps, non_?” Francis squeezed the ladies tightly and for a moment appeared to have forgotten Arthur completely, but as the ladies shared a giggle and answered Francis in excited French, Francis sent a warning look over his shoulder, just in case Arthur thought he could try something while the Frenchman was distracted.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but found himself approached by a young girl, smiling sweetly at him. _"Bonjour à vous rebeller_ ," she said lustfully, smiling when Arthur blushed.

_" D-Désolé, mais je ne cherche pas pour n'importe qui pour n'importe quoi,"_ Arthur stammered, following after Francis who had shot him an amused glance.

At last the two men, and Francis’ lady friends, approached the tavern portion of the inn where Gilbert already had his lap full of a brunette prostitute who he was chatting up excitedly while Ludwig sat awkwardly next to him, his eyes frequently drifting to Feliciano who was flirting happily with the barmaid. Nearby Antonio sat with an arm around an uncomfortable looking Lovino, Miguel nowhere to be seen. Peter and Matthew were quick to start trying to hail over Arthur and, in Matthew’s case, Francis, as soon as they saw them. Alfred passed by Arthur and Francis with his lady followers and went to sit with his brother. The meal passed pleasantly enough with everyone making the best conversation they could in the noisy atmosphere. Francis however, though he did exchange some words with Matthew, appeared to focus mostly on the girls, particularly the blonde who made her way steadily into Francis’ lap with the more wine they all drank. Francis did not speak a single word to Arthur. If the Englishman was honest with himself, he would admit that this made him feel a bit upset. If nothing else, it was rather rude of the Frenchman, but of course given his position Arthur had no good excuse to call him out on this.

Despite Francis’ cold attitude, Matthew didn’t mind making conversation with him and of course Peter sat as close to him as possible. Things could’ve continued this way without incident except that Arthur happened to notice a familiar head of white blonde hair and a long scarf enter into the tavern. Then he had to figure out what to do, as he seemed to be the first one to notice. He sent a glance at Francis, who paid him no mind. He sent a glance at Alfred, who was happily chatting up another girl. He then decided to turn to Matthew, who was in an avid conversation with Peter about the difference between blue and sapphire.

"Matthew," he hissed, rudely interrupting and ignoring their glares. "I think Ivan's here!" At the sound of his rival's name, Alfred looked up. He shared a look with Arthur before standing to see Ivan. Alfred laughed loudly, gaining much attention.

"YO! IVAN!" Alfred called, shrugging off the spazzing Arthur.

"Wanker! Sit down!" He hissed, pulling the trembling Matthew and Peter close.

At Alfred’s hailing, Ivan’s head perked up and a u-shaped smile turned up his lips. Francis also had jumped at Alfred’s call and his head whipped around as Ivan began to swiftly approach. The Frenchman, though a bit addled from the wine, quickly shoved the blonde off of his lap and turned to face Ivan, though he staggered slightly. “Ivan? To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Ivan shrugged. “Well, being here is coincidence, though seeing your ships I knew you were in town. But dear Alfred has invited me over, so perhaps he wishes to enjoy a drink with me?”

Francis watched Ivan carefully for a moment. “Are you... are you here alone, _mon ami_? If so you should of course come and sit with us!”

“ _Da_ , I am alone for the moment. My crewmembers and I... separated for a while. I would be happy to join you!” The Russian slid into a seat between one of Francis’ girls and Arthur. Francis looked momentarily displeased, but didn’t comment on the arrangement and slowly sat back down, pulling the confused girl back into his lap. Arthur stiffened, scooting over as the two boys in his arms squeaked in fear. He refused to meet Ivan's eyes, glaring instead at nothing in particular. Abandoning the girls, Alfred sauntered over to Arthur and Ivan, purposely shoving himself between Arthur and Ivan as Arthur quickly made room for him.

"Just gonna sit right here between you and my family," Alfred said cheerily. "Can't have you trying to fuck them now, can I, you bastard?"

Ivan chuckled darkly. “Now what makes you think I am here to do that? Anyway, it was you that called me over here, was it not?” Ivan leaned closer to the American. “Perhaps you would rather I fucked you instead? Are you jealous, comrade?”

"I'm a Hero, bastard, Heroes get whatever Heroine they want, so I don't have to be jealous," Alfred replied back, inching closer. Arthur grabbed Alfred's wrist, squeezing tightly. Alfred shoved back, freeing his wrist as he stared up into Ivan's violet eyes.

"I called you over because I wanted to know if we were going to finish our little fight?" Alfred asked sweetly, harshly hushing Matthew's failed protests.

“Oh yes, I remember,” Ivan smirked, “Well obviously it would be rude to finish things here when everyone is enjoying each other’s company and the fine French food and wine. Though I would prefer vodka... ah but still, it is not the place for such things. However...” Ivan took this opportunity to lean closer to the American and speak more softly, “If you wish to meet me in the alley behind inn to finish things, then that should be fine. I will get up to use the... facilities now and will wait ten minutes for you to meet me there before returning. If you do not come I will return, and you will be a coward. What say you to that?” The Russian’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

"I say you’re on," Alfred replied, a dark excited emotion swirling in his orbs. He pulled away and watched Ivan's retreating back.

"Alfred!" Arthur hissed, grabbing the American's arm tightly. "What the bloody hell was that about and what do you have planned, Wanker?"

"Revenge," Alfred replied. "I'm doing it for the family name Artie!"

"The only time you use the name Alfred F. Kirkland-Jones is in a fight," Peter commented dryly, still clinging to Arthur for fear Ivan would return. Alfred smiled and patted Peter's head.

"I'll see you three tomorrow," Alfred said. He shot a glance at Miguel, who had suddenly shown up, and nudged his head in a silent command. Miguel scowled but nodded and followed the American out into the night.

"Bloody fool," Arthur sighed, anxiety already creeping on him. "Miguel won't be enough for a double, besides, I doubt Ivan'll even be taking a double!"

“A double?” Matthew looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened in fright. “Oh no! We can’t let him do that, we have to stop him!”

Arthur stood up, gripping Peter's hand tightly. "We'll follow him and just make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," Arthur said, completely forgetting Francis until the Frenchman had clamped a hand  
around his wrist. "I'll be with Matthew, let go!" He hissed, ripping his hand away and tugging the two boys along. Francis made no attempt to stop them, now distracted by the blonde on his lap. Arthur shook his head but continued on. They found the two loitering in an alley way, making small talk.

"Dude, it's fucking simple, we already talked about it on the ship and you agreed," said Alfred's irritable voice.  Arthur put his finger against his lips in a 'shhh' motion and waved for them to follow as he crept after Miguel and Alfred.

"This is Ivan we're talking about!" Miguel hissed. "I know I agreed but this is ridiculous!"

"Whatever man, you agreed so you’re gonna fucking help me," Alfred said sternly, smiling widely when Miguel had given in with a defeated sigh. Alfred and Miguel turned at Ivan walked up to them, twirling a pipe in his hand. Arthur felt the two behind him stiffen, but neither made a sound.

“Ah, a double, how cute,” Ivan giggled as he approached. “I of course have no need for such a thing myself. Are you prepared to be beaten into a pulp? I do hope you’ve gotten your affairs in order and have said goodbye to your loved ones,” Ivan’s voice held a note of mock-concern.

"HAHA! How did I just know that you'd bring along that nifty little pipe?" Alfred teased darkly. "Men fight with fists Ivan, not toys. Now toss that aside and bring your face over here so I can smash it!"

“Silly American, you never said before that weapons were not allowed. But I will humour you this once,” Ivan carefully laid his pipe against the wall of the building and then shook his coat off his shoulders to lie beside it. “Are there any other rules you wish to add now, a stopping point? Or are you prepared to have me beat you until you’re dead? I’m certainly ready for it.” The Russian grinned.

"Hmm. I'd rather settle on prizes," Alfred chuckled. "I win; you never come within a 29 foot radius of Arthur, Peter, Matthew, or anyone else who I don't want you to be close to." He pondered before adding. "Oh, and no backup. Miguel will go sit over there. We play until someone gives in."

“Hmm... well I suppose that’s fair in theory, but I’m going to limit that to those three only. I don’t want you to randomly add other people in the future. And as for my prize, unfortunately as those three are either slaves of or related to my dear friend Francis at the moment, you have no authority to give them to me should I win. So I propose this- if I manage to subdue you, you will be knocked unconscious and brought to my ship where I may play with you! I realise that you belong to that Spanish man, but I never really cared for him so I don’t mind making him a bit angry. Oh, and don’t worry, we’ll have much fun together, I have many toys beside my pipe! Whips, knives, chains, hot pokers, the possibilities are endless! I’d be so happy to see your broken expression, your eyes filled with fear and trembling like a lamb in a slaughterhouse!”

Alfred snorted, but nodded. "See if you CAN break me," Alfred laughed. "I'm the Hero, and I won't roll  
over for a communist villain like you!" With that, Alfred lunged forward, landing a hard left hook across Ivan's face and dancing out of reach.

“Kol kol, we’ll see,” Ivan’s eyes glinted and a grin widened on his face as he touched his cheek, feeling the wetness of blood. Drawing back, Ivan let out a yell that sounded guttural and inhuman as he launched himself at Alfred, feinting for his face but swinging a well aimed punch down into the man’s gut and forcing him to double over before the large Russian sent an equally powerful blow to his hunched back, sending him onto the ground.

Alfred kicked out, managing a blow to the Russian's abdominal area before having the breath fly out of him. Shaking his head to clear the dizziness, he rolled out of the way and leapt to his feet, feeling a hard punch across his face. He snarled and leapt at the man, knocking them both over as he unleashed a flurry of punches.

Ivan snorted like a bull and reached forward blindly, managing to grip one of Alfred’s wrists as his arm came down and gave it a sharp twist, squeezing it for all the Russian was worth to the point where the bones might crack at any time as he attempted to snatch up Alfred’s other hand as well.

Alfred howled and pulled his leg up to stomp on Ivan's chest, making the Russian let go. He pulled away, cradling his sore arm. Ivan grinned as he got to his feet once more and grabbed Alfred, managing to get hold of his arms again but this time twisted them behind the American’s back, smashing the boy face first into the brick wall and holding him there so he could get his mouth next to his victim’s ear. “Had enough, little one?”

"Fuck this, _I’ve_ had enough," Arthur hissed. He stood up from behind the barrels the three were hidden behind. He stepped into Alfred's line of vision, but not Ivan's. With a growl, Alfred thrust backwards, freeing one arm and punching Ivan. He brought his knee up hard against Ivan's groin, resorting to dirty tricks in an effort to keep Arthur's presence a secret from the Russian. Miguel, having now spotted all three, rushed to them and threw Arthur back behind the barrels.

“Oh, so we play THAT way now, pig?” Ivan wheezed, working to regain his balance as Alfred got away from him, “I will enjoy it all the more, then!” Seeming to recover unnaturally fast, the Russian pursued the American again. He dodged the kicks and wild punches Alfred tried to send while still nursing his injured arm and managed to get close enough to grab the poor man’s neck. He squeezed it, even as Alfred pushed and clawed at his hands. Finally the American tried to shove at Ivan’s face, but the Russian opened his mouth and bit down hard on Alfred’s fingers, drawing blood.

"AH!" Alfred cried out. He held up his other hand and slashed at Ivan's face with his nails, splitting open skin. He shoved and punched, his moves uncoordinated and desperate.

"ALFRED!" Arthur rushed from behind the barrel, only to be caught and held back by Miguel.

"He's gotta learn," Miguel said, holding the crying Englishman back.

Matthew was working hard to hold back Peter and keep his mouth covered, but even he was having trouble not rushing to Alfred’s aid as the Russian choked him until his cheeks tinged purple. “I will stop when you fall unconscious, little one. I know you feel desperate now, but when you awake on my ship I’ll show you what true desperation is.”

At this Matthew lost it. He let go of Peter and charged at Ivan himself. Miguel was busy holding back Arthur and could only yell in protest as the Canadian flung himself upon the Russian’s back and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, trying his best to choke him. Ivan was forced to loosen his grip and allowed Alfred to fall to the ground. He whipped around and made Matthew fall to the ground as well before he quickly went to him, yanking him up by the arm and turning to Alfred with a sick grin.

“And here I thought you wanted to fight fair, comrade! You kept a secret helper in case you got into a tough spot? Very unsportsmanlike of you!” Matthew whimpered from where he dangled from the Russian’s hand, his momentary rush of anger-fueled strength having passed.

Alfred was on his knees, coughing and wheezing for air. Ivan's words, somehow, reached through the fog and hit him. He looked up to stare at his brother's terrified face. A fuel of rage surged through his body, returning his strength and more. He let loose an inhumane snarl and quick as lightning he stood up and gave a hard uppercut. The sheer force of the hit made Ivan stagger back and release Matthew. Alfred grabbed his bother as he fell and swung him behind him. He gave his brother a swift kiss on the cheek and leapt at the angry Russian. Using his rage fueled power; he grabbed Ivan by his scarf and slammed his head into the wall. He repeated this over and over, his shoves getting stronger and stronger. The other four watched in horror as blood spewed out from Ivan, frantic attacks being easily shoved off by the crazed American.

After repeated failed retaliations the Russian finally let out a long cry, almost like the wail of an infant and Matthew couldn’t take this anymore. He bit his lip hard and grabbed the back of Alfred’s shirt to pull him back, surprised to find Miguel at his side, helping him.

“It’s over, please stop; you’re going to kill him! Please don’t...” Matthew gasped out and clung to Alfred’s shirt, “I don’t want to see you be a murderer, please, please don’t do this!”

Miguel nodded, “ _Amigo_ let me tell you, if you’re going to kill someone you don’t do it like this. I think a cry like that counts as surrender anyway.”

Ivan has frozen when Matthew and Miguel had pulled Alfred back, and now turned, looking rather surprised. “Oh, I surrendered?” Ivan cocked his head to one side, his words watery and a bubble of blood formed at the corner of his mouth as he spoke. Ivan then seemed to notice something at the mouth of the alley that made him smile, though his face was covered in blood, snot and tears. “Da, I surrendered! Well, I suppose when you fight with dirty tricks and secret helpers you are indeed the better man, little pig! You’re right, I should’ve tried things too, silly me to think you would be too noble to fight unfairly! Hello, Francis!”

The Frenchman was hurrying down the alley looking furious, passing Peter unnoticed completely, the women he had had with him now absent. “What is happening here? What is the meaning of this, Ivan?”

Ivan put on a false look of shock. “Me? As you can see, I’m the one worse for the wear here! Though of course Alfred is too, so we may just say we were settling things, _da_?”

Francis took a good look at Ivan’s face and winced, daring another look at Alfred. “W-well... if it’s between you two I can do nothing to help... but you, Mathieu! I assumed you went to the bathroom but you were out here, can I not trust you to keep yourself out of trouble?”

“ _Désole Papa_...” Matthew said softly under Francis’ hard look. If anyone were to look at Ivan, they would see he looked rather amused.

“And you!” Francis now rounded on Arthur, looking murderous. “It is bad enough that you would end up in this kind of situation, but to allow Mathieu... he’s not even a safe distance away! You are both coming back right now, and Miguel,” Francis glared at the Portuguese man, “Don’t even THINK I won’t be telling Antonio what his first mate and slave have been doing.”

Ivan giggled, though the sound was wet as blood kept dripping into his mouth, “Oh, no need for that I think, Antonio is used to Alfred getting into fights, _da_?”

Arthur chose to stay silent. What Francis said was true, and that itself stung Arthur. He wanted to keep his sons safe, but everything had spiraled out of his control. He hung his head, looking down to see Peter clinging to his leg. He picked him up, feeling Peter's fingers wipe away at the newly falling tears. He turned to look at Alfred, his gaze resting on the stunned American. Alfred stood, still in Miguel’s grip, trembling and staring at his bloodied hands. The boy had gone into shock. Every fiber in his body screamed to put Peter down and go to hold his son, but he stood where he was, making no attempt to move. He watched as Miguel and Matthew tried to get a response from the frozen American.

“Come on Al, i-it... you stopped okay? Everything’s fine now,” Matthew bit his lip and rubbed Alfred’s back, Miguel was snapping his fingers in front of the man’s face.

“Damn, I think we need to get him out of here,” Miguel muttered, putting an arm around Alfred’s back, “Can you at least try to walk with me?”

Ivan rolled his eyes now at this display and spit a wad of blood and bile onto the ground. “Well comrades, I will be leaving for now, I think.”

Francis turned to him and frowned. “Er, are you sure you do not need any help?”

“ _Nyet_ , I am fine, I have been through worse than this,” Ivan flashed another bloody grin. “I will see you soon, Francis, Alfred,” Ivan’s eyes glinted dangerously as if to announce that things were far from over before sauntering away into the gloom.

Francis shook his head fiercely and snapped his attention to Arthur and Peter. “You, get inside, go to bed. _Now_. Mathieu, go with them.” Francis said sharply.

“But, but Alfred...”

“Miguel and I will take care of him, you three go inside,” Francis growled, “And I will figure out appropriate punishment later.” Matthew squeaked, but nodded glumly, giving Alfred one last hug before hurrying to Arthur.

Snapping to sudden attention, Alfred stared bawling loudly, falling to the floor and huddling into himself. Arthur took a step toward him, but faltered when he met Francis's glare. Steeling himself, Arthur gripped Matthew's hand and stomped off, ignoring everything in his trek toward the inn. Arthur led Matthew to his room and handed him Peter.

"If anything bad happens to me, go," he whispered in the young English boy's ear. He then turned and walked toward his shared room. Once there, he allowed himself to sob.

It was almost half an hour later that Francis entered the room. By this time Arthur had ceased his sobbing, but his eyes were still rimmed with red and his head was hurting. Francis took note of the red eyes and sighed deeply before shutting the door and striding across the room to hang up his jacket. Then his folded his arms in front of him and turned to face the Englishman on the bed.

“Alfred is an idiot, and you’re very lucky he isn’t in a worse state. From what Mathieu and Peter have told me, if they hadn’t been there he’d likely be on Ivan’s ship by now, ready to be tortured worse than he can probably imagine. Even so, that is not my concern,” Francis’ eyes narrowed. “When I give orders, such as to stay out of danger, you _follow_ them. You are no longer a captain. You have no ship or crew.” The Frenchman shook his head. “And you put others in danger. Though I’m sure you know this. In the future you are to notify myself if you are concerned about anything like this, and I will notify Antonio or whoever has authority to fix things. YOU will not involve yourself more than necessary. Do you understand?”

"Alfred is my son, I had every right to go after him," Arthur snarled. He didn't need to be lectured like some little boy. Right now, more than anything, he needed to be alone. Too many emotions were swirling in his mind and he needed to clear them."You would've gone if it was Matthew," he scoffed. He stared into cold blue eyes before growling. " _Se os meus irmáns non podería contol min, o que fai pensar que pode_ ," Arthur growled the Gaelic rolling off his tongue. Not expected answer, Arthur stomped off, locking himself in the attached bathroom. Francis growled in irritation and ran his fingers through his hair roughly.

“You cannot stay in there forever, you know,” Francis snapped, moving to stand outside the door. After standing there a few minutes without much sound from Arthur, the Frenchman groaned and decided to switch tactics. “ _Oui_ , I would’ve gone if my Mathieu was in danger. And I suppose I cannot have expected you to do anything else.” The Frenchman closed his eyes and rested a hand against the bathroom door. “If it were only you rescuing Alfred I would let it go, but you allowed Mathieu to put himself in harm’s way. I cannot let that go, _lapin_.”

"You think I bloody well can?!" Arthur ripped the door open; his eyes alit with fury as he stared up at Francis. "I've been sitting here for over a bleeding half an hour, beating myself up over the fact that I let a sliver of a chance of harm come to Matthew! It's killing me more than it is you! I love that boy as much as I love Alfred or Peter. I consider all three as my boys even though I shouldn't. They're not mine to claim, especially Matthew, but I'm still bleeding doing it!" He took a shaky breath before curling his fingers in his hair, tugging slightly. He groaned before turning and trying to go back into the bathroom. Key word being trying, for Francis had grabbed his upper arm in a vice grip. Arthur tugged once, but made no real effort. He was tired and too emotionally drained to care about anything right how.

Francis pulled Arthur out of the bathroom and over to the bed, pushing him down on it firmly and looking him straight in the eyes. “Arthur, I want you to listen to this so it is made perfectly clear. I do not care if you feel bad about it. It still occurred. If it happens again, I will make sure you never leave my ship without a collar and chain around your neck. _Merde, si vous ou Mathiey avait ete blesse_ ,” Francis took a deep breath and clenched his fists. “Are you hurt?”

Arthur looked away, his emerald eyes dull. "Matthew and Peter are fine," he muttered, purposefully avoiding the question. Francis scowled and opened his mouth, but Arthur cut him off. "How's Alfred?" He demanded. "Where is he? What're his injuries like?"

Francis narrowed his eyes and answered quickly. “Alfred has numerous bruises and cuts the worse one being his fingers where Ivan bit him, his wrist is possibly cracked or broken but more likely sprained. Nothing is permanently damaged. Are _you_ hurt?” Francis asked again, watching the Englishman closely.

Arthur cursed in not just English, but Irish, Welsh, and Gaelic as well. He furrowed his eyebrows, too absorbed in replaying the fight in his head to hear Francis when he had asked the same question. Fingers cupped his face, making Arthur stare back into Francis's eyes. "It doesn't matter if I'm hurt or not!" He spat out irritably, "My son is hurt and it's all my fault. Oh, if you bloody well must know, I am NOT hurt. Happy?"

“Relieved,” Francis said, almost too quietly to be heard before drawing back and sitting beside Arthur instead of facing him. “If it is any consolation, it is definitely not _all_ your fault. Alfred is an adult and can make his own poor decisions. Although you probably could’ve done a better job at teaching him not to end all quarrels with violence.”

Arthur simply sighed; turning on his side with is back to Francis. He felt restless and emotionally hurt, and had the sudden urge for music. At first, softly, he began singing softly to himself. An Irish lullaby he remembered his brother William sing to him as a child. He immediately stopped as hands wound around his waist and pulled him closer. "Yes?" Arthur asked softly, his mood calmer.

“Nothing,” Francis whispered into Arthur’s hair, quietly. They lay like that for a moment and then Francis made a soft scoffing sound. “Normally I would be trying to get into your pants by this point, but I think you’ve been through too much to force it on you right now.” Ignoring the confused look Arthur sent over his shoulder, Francis drew away and pulled back the covers on the bed for the two of them, proceeding to walk over to the lamp with the intent to extinguish it.

Arthur watched Francis blow out the candle. Francis crawled under the covers, urging Arthur to do the same. They laid in silence, making Arthur's skin crawl. He turned to Francis, emerald meeting cerulean. Arthur scooted closer, thanking the darkness as a blush crawled upon his face. Arthur continued singing, raising his voice slightly as Irish fell from his lips.

_"Gille beag ò, leanabh lag ò.  
Gillie beag ò, nan coarach thu.  
_ _Gille beag ò, gillie lag ò.  
Gillie beag ò, nan caorach.  
_ _Gillie nan caorachan._  
Gillie nan caorachan.  
Gillie nan caorachan.  
Gillie nan caorachan, gaolach thu."

Francis stared at Arthur in the dark as he got closer, feeling his own face heat up at the unexpected action. He shivered when their bodies met and Arthur pulled himself flush with the Frenchman. “What are you doing?” he asked softly, with a note of fear and a softer note of pain in his voice.

" _Leasaíonn a dhéanamh, nó ar a laghad ag iarraidh a_ ," Arthur replied. After silence, he looked up, staring into blinking uncertain eyes. Realizing he was still speaking Irish, he switched back to English and repeated. "Comforting, or at least trying to. Wither I'm comforting you or myself or both, I honestly don't know."

Francis took a breath in and closed his eyes. “And you say...” he cracked one eye open and smirked down at the small man, “That you don’t act like a woman.”

“I could always go back over there and not sing to you in Irish," Arthur huffed, glancing to the edge of the bed. A small amount of smugness swelled in his chest as arms wrapped around his waist.

“ _Non_ , you’ll stay here,” Francis whispered, nuzzling his face into the British man’s hair, his lips upturned. “Though you probably ought to stop singing for now, we really ought to be sleeping... unless you want to do something else?” One of the Frenchman’s hands sank and bit lower than appropriate.

Debating it slightly, Arthur gave in to the pushy voice in the back of his head and reached up to pull Francis into a lip lock. It was familiar and warm somehow, and it was something Arthur really wanted. They fell into habit, both quickly stripping and moving fast. When their nightly routine was over and finished, Arthur was shoved to the side again. Feeling cold, Arthur cast a sad glance at Francis's back before turning around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH. 7 TRANSLATIONS
> 
> Il a été trop longtemps, non? - (French) It has been too long, no?
> 
> Bonjour à vous rebeller - (French) Hello, rebel
> 
> Désolé, mais je ne cherche pas pour n'importe qui pour n'importe quoi - (french) Sorry, but I’m not looking for anyone or anything
> 
> Se os meus irmáns non podería contol min, o que fai pensar que pode - (Gaelic) If my brothers couldn't control me, what makes you think you can?
> 
> si vous ou Mathieu avait ete blesse - (French) If you or Mathieu had been injured
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Gille beag ò, leanabh lag ò.  
> Gillie beag ò, nan coarach thu.  
> Gille beag ò, gillie lag ò.  
> Gillie beag ò, nan caorach.  
> Gillie nan caorachan.  
> Gillie nan caorachan.  
> Gillie nan caorachan.  
> Gillie nan caorachan, gaolach thu."  
> -  
> (Irish) Small little lad, weak babe.  
> Small little lad, my tiny sheep.  
> Small little lad, small poor lad.  
> Small poor lad, my tiny sheep.  
> My small sheep.  
> My small sheep.  
> My small sheep, tiny warrior.))


	8. Day Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All translations may be found at the end for the long french sentences. But really, none of them are that important so don't worry about them too much.

**Chapter 8: Day Out**

The next morning, Francis was out of the bed long before Arthur and when the Englishman opened his bleary eyes he smelled bacon and eggs.  Francis was nearby, fully dressed and holding out a tray.

“ _Bonjour_ _lapin_ ,” Francis said happily, “I had this made especially for us. Unfortunately, if there is one thing my dear country has a problem doing in inns and taverns, it is preparing a proper breakfast. As much as I enjoy croissants, one just isn’t enough to satisfy in the morning.”

Arthur blinked few more times before sitting up. He looked at the food and saw the single croissant that Francis was complaining about. "If you don't like to share, then you can have it," he yawned, rubbing his  
eyes.

“I intended to,” Francis smirked, “But you should eat,” he put the tray in Arthur’s lap and took the croissant from the plate, taking a bite from it. Once he swallowed he went on. “Today we will be going to get everyone’s hair taken care of, and I want to get you and I a new set of clothes... oh and I suppose I’ll need to oversee the purchase of supplies as well at some point,” Francis frowned a bit, but ended up shrugging. “Well it cannot be helped. And when we get back,” Francis sent Arthur a grin, “I’ll be giving you a bath.”

"A bath?" Arthur asked after swallowing the food in his mouth. He had begun eating as Francis had rambled on. "How the bloody hell are you....oh." He blushed furious and took another bite of food. "As for clothes," Arthur began. "I'm telling you right now, I'm not wearing anything overly French. Though the language is...tolerable, their clothing is not. I already wore feminine clothing before, and god did I give my brothers hell for it!"

Francis looked rather interested at Arthur’s last statement but chose not to comment on it. “You will wear what I give you to wear, or go naked, I’m fine either way,” The Frenchman said, poking Arthur in the side of the head playfully. He laughed at Arthur’s offended expression but when he opened his mouth to retort Francis shoved his half eaten croissant into the open mouth, silencing him. “Now finish eating and get dressed. I need to make sure Mathieu and Peter are ready.” With that the Frenchman swept out of the room, leaving Arthur with a mouth full of food and rage in his eyes.

Arthur growled, but continued eating in silence.

\-- --

  
Peter stared up as Francis entered the room. With a squeak, he rolled away from the door and jumped into Matthew's bed. The Canadian laughed warmly. “ _Bonjour Papa_ ,” Matthew said with a smile. After hearing that Alfred would be alright he had been in a much better mood from yesterday. He’d already managed to be dressed himself as soon as Francis had awoken the two of them, but Peter had to be chased around the room until he was able to get him to put his shirt on. Francis looked at them both now with appraising eyes, especially Peter.

“I should think Peter will need new clothes as well,” Francis said after a moment.

“Ah, good luck getting them on him,” Matthew said with a soft laugh, ruffling Peter’s hair affectionately.

"They're itchy!" Peter protested. "Plus they're all frilly!" He moved out from behind Matthew and into Francis's vision. "I don't need clothes anyway!" Peter huffed, puffing out his cheeks. He blinked before adding, "Unless Arthur said I needed some. He said not to listen to frogs unless it was Matthew, so I think it might include clothes." He looked up at the confused Francis, smiling because the boy knew he was blowing through topics a bit too fast. "Oi! Mr Froggie Francis sir!" Peter chirped. “Where's my brother anyway?"

Francis shook his head briefly to process what the boy said, and folded his arms crossly. “Well you should listen to me. I know no one seems to have properly informed you of this, but I am your new captain. You should obey my orders.”

Matthew sighed and walked over to Peter, giving him a brief hug. “You really could use a new set of clothes, Peter.”

Francis snorted. “Your brother is in my room, getting dressed as we speak. If you’re both ready, I’ll go and bring him here. We’ll leave together, and don’t even _think_ about wandering off. I’m certain Arthur would agree with that.”

Peter puffed his cheeks out angrily, but took the pants Matthew offered him with a bright smile. He looked up at Francis with intent blue eyes, clearly studying him. His eyes softened and he asked curiously, "Can we still get candy?"

Francis’ eyebrow rose but he answered, “ _Oui_ , if you are good, we can still get candy.”

Matthew nodded. “That means no whining and no fighting the lady who’s going to cut your hair, okay? Just bear with it and be strong like Arthur, alright?”

Francis looked amused. “You make it sound as though he’s going to go through torture.”

Peter pouted, a thoughtful look crossing his face before nodding enthusiastically. "Only if I can get my hair cut like Art!" Peter said, respect and admiration in his eyes at the thought of his brother. "But not TOO short!" When Matthew nodded, he cheered and turned to Francis, "Can I see my big brother now?" Francis sighed, but nodded. He left the room and returned a minute or two later, a fully dressed Englishman in tow. Peter leapt on Arthur on sight and nearly knocked him to the ground.

“Right, so are we ready to go now?” Francis asked, raising an eyebrow at the display.

"Yup!" Peter chirped happily. Arthur nodded and stood up, his hand clasped firmly around Peter's. Smiling, Peter curled an arm around Matthew's and gripped Francis's sleeve.

"Let's go get Al," he said a hint of sadness in his voice. He pulled energetically, willing just one moment of a sort of makeshift family. Arthur chuckled as he stumbled after Peter, who had turned himself into a human chain link. He held a hand out to steady Francis, Matthew already used to Peter's sudden outbursts. Stopping at Alfred's door Peter turned to the now laughing Francis.

"Are we even allowed into Al's room?" Arthur asked.

Francis had a look as though he did not understand how he had gotten himself into such an odd situation and was glad when he was able to answer a reasonable question. “ _Oui_ , that should not be a problem, but I’m fairly certain that Antonio won’t want Alfred out on the streets after what he pulled last night. When I left him Antonio was saying something about grounding him to the inn for the rest of our stay, which by the way I am in support of as I would do the same if any of you did something so stupid. You’re only getting a pass now because I know you likely intended to help stop him.” This said Francis opened the door to find Alfred lying on his bed wrapped up in many bandages with his wrist in a sling. He looked very bored, but perked up upon seeing he had visitors.

"Al!" Peter chirped, releasing everyone and racing in.

"Quiet, Peter," Arthur chided. He stood next to Peter, who was happily telling Alfred of the day's expected events.

"Yeah, if I get candy, I promise to share!" Peter finished. Alfred groaned a pissy look on his face.

"I wish I was going," Alfred grumbled wishfully. "I really wanna go!" Arthur ruffled Alfred's hair, guilt evident on his face. Alfred pointedly ignored his father-figure, too ashamed to look into Arthur's eyes.

"Hey Mattie, can you and Pete pick up some new glasses for me?" Alfred asked.

"I'll get the glasses Alfred," Arthur said softly, making Alfred turn away.

"Hey Arthur. Sorry, um, for everything."

Arthur kissed Alfred's hair. "No, I am the one who's sorry." Peter watched the two with a scowl. Jealousy surged in his chest and he spun around on point and stomped out. He heard someone follow him, making him stop and sigh.

"I'm fine Art," he growled. "Just....feeling a little alone."

He looked back, blinking in surprise as the blank faced Francis stood behind him. He stared up at him, similar light blue eyes meeting. After a full minute of silence, Peter offered his hand. Francis took it and led him down to the front of the inn, where Matthew and Arthur stood. The Englishman sent them a curious, fearful look and offered his hand. Peter released Francis's hand and took Arthur's, tugging as silent permission to be held. Arthur did just that and picked him up.

"Well Francis, where to?" Arthur asked expectantly.

“I think hair cuts are the first manner of business, and Miss Sophie Veyheyen’s shop isn’t too far from here,” Francis grinned, “She may be Belgian, but she certainly knows how to style French hair, and she’s too adorable! You’ll love her, I always go to her though she could really do with more business for her quality of work,” Francis led the group to a barber shop a couple of streets away. It was very small, but elegantly decorated. Inside the front room held only a single barber chair, a mirror, a sink, and four waiting chairs. The door had chimed as it was opened, having struck a bell above it.

“ _Je suis sur mon chemin_!” A light, happy female voice drifted from behind a door at the other end of the room and out of it came a somewhat tall woman with curly blonde hair, bright green eyes and a playful smile. Her eyes widened at the sight of Francis and her smile grew into a grin. “Francis! _It est toujours merveilleux de vous voir_ ,” the Belgian woman turned to Matthew, “ _Et tu, Mathieu, avez-tu grandi depuis que j’ai vu la dernière_?”

Matthew shook his head and laughed a bit, “ _Non, je ne crois pas._ _Il est bon de vous voir aussi,_ Sophie _._ ”

Now Sophie’s eyes drifted to Arthur and Peter and she looked rather surprised. “ _Vous avez plus avec vous C’est inhabituel. Sont-its des amis ou des membres d’équipage de nouvelles?_ ” ((You have more with you? This is unusual. Are they friends or new crew members?)) She smiled warmly at them. “ _Je suis Sophie, il est agreable de vous rencontrer_.”

“Ah, Sophie _mon cheri_ , I’m afraid you’re speaking to Englishmen. The little one at least cannot understand you,” Francis said gently.

“Oh!” Sophie blushed a little and repeated her last bit in rather heavily accented English to Peter, “I am Sophie, it is nice to meet you!” Peter stared up at the woman in curiosity before a nudge from Arthur snapped him back to reality.

"OH! Please excuse my manners!" Peter blushed, laughing in embarrassment. "I'm Peter Kirkland, pleased to meet you!" He gave a swift bow, his face blushing even more when he heard her laughter.

" _Je suis Arthur Kirkland, heureux de vous rencontrer madame_ ," Arthur greeted, giving a flourishing bow that made Peter stare in jealously.

"Mannered jerk," Peter mumbled Sophie giggled again at Arthur’s bow, though this one seemed more flustered.

Francis smiled indulgently and took Sophie’s hand up to kiss the back of it. “Now, my Belgian flower, I believe you have four heads worth of business. I and Mathieu of course only need things trimmed to shoulder length as usual, but the Britons unfortunately have hair a bit too messy for such a style. Above the ears for them, I think.”

Sophie turned her head to appraise Peter and Arthur a moment, then smiled at the older brother. “Are you sure this one cannot wear long hair? I think it looks interesting... _rebellious_.”

“Ah, I know and have said as much, but he insists on having it cut short. I’d rather you do it then have him trying to cut it himself.”

Sophie nodded. “Alright, if you insist then. Who’s first?”

Matthew was selected to go first, and had the hair that had been spilling onto his shoulders taken up about an inch or two above them. Matthew sighed happily once Sophie finished and shook out his hair. As Sophie had made sure to clean it before she began in her sink, the hair was fluffy and bounced around the Canadian’s ears. Francis looked approvingly at it and ended up taking the next turn as Peter still seemed pretty unsure about getting his hair cut and Arthur was still trying to convince him it was for the best.

Francis had less cut off than Matthew did, his hair still touching his shoulders when Sophie had finished. He tied his hair back in a blue ribbon and the washing had left it gleaming like spun gold. He looked at the Britons and smirked.

“Alright, let’s get Peter in the chair then, oh!” Francis looked as though he had just remembered something, “That’s right, I was going to have Sophie pluck Arthur’s eyebrows...” Peter giggled at Arthur's wide eyes.

"I-It's actually hereditary," Arthur mumbled, his face flushing red. "I would prefer not, if you please. I saw my brothers' attempts at taming them and am not too keen on going through all the same work they did for the same results."

"He thinks they give him character," Peter smiled, jumping onto the chair after Arthur had given him a gentle nudge. He smiled up at the girl with wide doe eyes. "Not too much please, ma'am! I enjoy my hair long."

“Hmm, I will do my best,” Sophie smiled and began by giving Peter’s hair a thorough wash as the other two had. However, she did take note that there seemed to be a lot more dirt and grit on Peter’s scalp than on either of the two Frenchmen. Meanwhile, Francis was scoffing at Arthur’s reluctance.

“I assure you that Sophie is far more adept at plucking eyebrows than any of your brothers,” he assured the Englishman, “We will have her pluck them and you will see how good you look once they are tamed!” Arthur glared moodily at Francis, his eyes seeming to say, 'You'll regret it' but agreed with a tense nod. With his hair finally cut, Peter jumped off the chair, running his fingers through his short, but clean hair.

"Thank you ma'am," he thanked before rushing to his brother and placing Arthur's hand on his head.

"Blimey, I can feel my scalp Art!" Peter said in bewilderment. "Is that normal for it to be this color? I thought I was dirty blonde."

"Lad, I have no idea," Arthur commented, ruffling the soft hair and settling into the chair.

"I usually have mine cut shorter than the ear," Arthur said, "I don't keep my hair any longer than that."  
Peter was busy staring into a mirror, ruffling his hair that looked blonder to him than his usual honey color. Briefly, the thought of his own eyebrows cross his mind. He looked up at Francis before turning to Matthew.

"Matt, can I get my brows done as well?" He asked shyly, feeling his brother's shocked look on him.

Matthew looked at him with surprised as well. “Er, well, if you want to I don’t have a problem with it, it’s up to you.”

Francis looked very happy. “Ah, _oui_ , you will look so much better, now Sophie if you would?”

Sophie nodded and once Arthur’s hair was washed and trimmed to just above his ears, she pulled out a very small comb and a pair of tweezers. “I’ll go as carefully as possible, I promise!” she assured Arthur as she began to pluck, making Arthur wince. “Try not to move your eyebrows! It makes them more difficult to shape.” Sophie continued. It took almost an hour to get rid of about two thirds of the bushy brows, making them into neat, even and slightly curved lines above the emerald green eyes.

“I’m finished!” Sophie announced and Francis quickly hurried over from where he had been talking to Matthew to survey the new look. When he first laid eyes on it, Francis looked very gleeful and announced that Sophie had managed to perform a miracle. However as Peter took up Arthur’s place, a little unsure after seeing Arthur’s pained expressions during the procedure but still wanting to seem brave, Francis started looking harder at Arthur’s eyebrows and sighed as Arthur glared at him.

“Alright, perhaps you had a point. You do look... strange... with them like this. You have a much wider forehead and when you scowl it just looks... wrong,” Francis groaned and quickly reassured Sophie as she looked over that she had still done a good job, it was just that on Arthur his original style might’ve been best. “If you were smiling though, it might improve things,” Francis smirked a bit and poked the Englishman in the ribs. Arthur's scowl simply deepened. He stood up, thanking Sophie for the cut, and went over to Peter, brooding.

"You want to pluck your bloody brows, be my guest," Arthur hissed, taking a bit of pride seeing hurt flash in Peter's blue eyes. Peter sat up on the chair again, swinging his feet slightly as Sophie began. It did hurt, and Peter was digging his nails into his pants to keep from crying out, but nothing could stop the tears that formed in his eyes. When she was done, Peter sprang out of the chair and went to survey his face. Two curved eyebrows laid above Peter's blue eyes, actually making him look good. He smiled brightly at Sophie, his eyes shining.

"They're wonderful ma'am! Thank you!" Peter chirped brightly, giggling when he saw Arthur's face darkened.

“Ah! He does look much better this way!” Francis’ eyes lit up and he rushed to the mirror, putting an arm around Peter’s shoulders and grinning at both of them in the mirror, “His hair and eyebrows are immaculate! I wonder...” Francis stopped suddenly and drew away from Peter and his questioning look. “Well, anyway, they look much better on you than on Arthur.”

Francis quickly pulled out a lovely gold necklace and ring set with rubies that he handed to the flushed Sophie. “For a wonderful job, use these to advertise your establishment. I should never be able to walk into such a shop without a line going down the street!”

“ _Merci,_ Francis,” Sophie said, gladly taking the offerings.

“Never a problem for one as lovely as you, _cheri_ , Francis kissed the back of Sophie’s hand in farewell. Matthew also approached the woman, thanked her, and kissed his hand. Arthur and Peter made do with their bows, earning more happy giggles from the Belgian before the four trekked out into the streets once more.

“So, are we looking for clothes now, _Papa_?” Matthew asked Francis.

“ _Oui_ , I know I fine tailor, though I’m afraid he’s on the other side of town. We’ll pick up my rose perfume on the way, _non_?” Francis smiled a satisfied smile as he led the way through the busy streets. For a town that regularly played host to pirates, things seemed remarkably civilized in the middle of the day. When Arthur made a comment on that, Matthew explained that apart from the fact that when everyone carried a gun and sword it was best not to pick fights, most violent men would be around at night drunk from the taverns.

After securing Francis’ perfume which Arthur accused of being girly and had the stuff squirted in his face by the offended Frenchman to his disgust, the group finally reached a shop rather larger and a bit more busy than Sophie’s shop had been. Inside there were several men and women waiting in line before a desk where a small man with blonde hair and a small white beret sat smiling like a ray of sunshine, happily directing some behind one of the four screens at the back of the room and sometimes running back himself into some kind of backroom where he produced clothing for his customers. He seemed to be enjoying himself. When at last Arthur, Francis, Mathew and Peter reached the table, the beret wearing man looked up and smiled brightly.

“Oh, _bonjour_ Francis!” he said happily.

“ _Bonjour_ Tino, I have a big order today, do you have room for three fittings? Of course my measurements have not changed, but Matthew has grown and I have two more today I would like to order clothes for.”

Tino looked momentarily confused, probably wondering why Francis was speaking in English, but shrugged and smiled all the same. “No problem! You might have to wait a bit first for everyone, but I think Berwald is free to do a fitting! He can do the little one first if you want!” Tino looked at Peter now, “You don’t mind, do you?”

Peter smiled up at the man, and nodded, blindly trusting the man as he led him to the back. Arthur watched in a mix of awe, jealously, and fury. Peter never left his side without at least a glance in his direction. Arthur pondered upon this, his mind filling with heartbreaking thoughts of his brother wanting to leave him. He shrugged off Francis's sympathetic looks, feeling his rage grow.

He looked around the shop, anything to distract himself from the emotions and memories swirling in his mind. After a while, Peter came out, dressed in snug fitting shorts, a white frilled shirt with a blue vest over and a thicker blue coat over that. He had knee high stockings and black shoes. On his head rested an oversized blue sailor hat with a green pendent weaved onto the blue and white striped ribbon attached to it. Arthur took one look and snorted.

"Can't wait to see you in this," Peter shot back, sticking out his tongue.

"Lad, if I was you I'd cry," Arthur scoffed. "You look like a bleeding frog. Though the hat was in good taste."

Peter took a look in a nearby, mirror, smiling at the reflection that stared back. He stared at his brother through the mirror, not recognizing the look the green eyed Englishman sent him.

"Well?" Peter asked his brother, "Your honest opinion?"

"Don't ask me," was the harsh reply, shooting a stinging sensation of pain into Peter's heart. He turned to Matthew and Francis, smiling, but his smile did not reach his eyes.

"Well?" He asked. "Is it good? The man inside said it was nice."

Matthew smiled gently. “It looks perfect, it suits you well.”

Francis could help but grin. “Ah! It’s like looking in a mirror twenty years ago!”

Matthew coughed a bit and ran a hand through his hair. “Um, that’s very high praise from Francis.”

“Th’ght it look’d ok’y,” a grunt came from nearby and Arthur jumped to see a tall, rather terrifying looking man with glasses looking down at them. Tino looked up as well.

“Oh, Berwald! Yes, good job, he looks adorable!” Tino said happily and told Matthew that he could follow Berwald into the back now. The Canadian gulped a bit, but smiled politely enough and followed the scary man behind a screen. “I think Emil is ready as well, if your friend would step behind the screen to this side, you are ready, right Emil?”

A small man wearing a neat brown suit and short white hair came from behind one of the other screens and nodded a serious expression on his face. “Yes, I am ready.”

“Well go on then,” Francis nudged Arthur toward Emil.

Arthur glared back at Francis but followed after, hearing Francis begin to tell Peter about the finer points of fashion. Arthur stepped into the room, Emil following after grabbing his measuring utensils. The science that followed the task was comfortable and needed for the Englishman. Emil disappeared to fetch clothing and came back, handing him the clothes and walking back out to allow Arthur to change. Arthur dressed, noting that the clothes didn't look French at all. He stared into the mirror, unable to recognize the same man who left the ports of London so long ago. Green pants blended effortlessly into the green vest he wore, a cream collared shirt underneath the vest. A thin green jacket had been placed under the dark brown trench coat. Arthur tucked the handkerchief into his neck, tying his collar properly. It was a bit too much green, the cream and brown the only relief, but it made Arthur's eyes shine out. Arthur felt the pockets, feeling gloves in them. He raised an eyebrow, but pulled the cream gloves on. With a nod, Arthur stepped out and followed Emil back to the front.

He found Francis and Peter, holding hands, looking like a father and his son as they spoke to another man. Arthur ignored the stabbing pain in his chest and looked at the man, fear replacing the pain quickly. He knew this man, Mathias. He had been close friends with Scott and had enjoyed making his life  
hell. Arthur stood, quiet as the group turned to look at him. Arthur suddenly felt small again as a familiar smirk splayed across Mathias's face.

Francis turned as Mathias’ eyes wandered, and the blue orbs widened as well when they saw Arthur. He coughed and turned away, only Peter noticing the slight pink tinge that came across the Frenchman’s cheeks. Francis regained his composure quickly enough however and turned back and smirked, or at least tried to, it didn’t come off quite as perverted as his smirks normally did.

“Well, as usual Emil knows exactly which colours to use on others, even if he continues to wear dull brown himself. Oh, Arthur, this is Mathias. I usually have him help me with new outfits as he keeps up best with the latest fashions in France.”

"I know who he is," Arthur muttered taking several steps back as Mathias took one.

"Wow, Arthur, you sure grew!" Mathias laughed. "I hardly recognized you without those ungodly eyebrows you Kirklands always have." Peter stared up at Mathias, his brows furrowing. Who was this man and why did he know Arthur? "Ya know, of all your brothers, I thought you were the only one who would stay with Scott," Mathias laughed sharply. "You had such a brother complex, imagine my surprise when he told me it was opposite."

"Y-You're still in contact with him?" Arthur squeaked, fear rising in his voice. Mathias nodded, his smile growing as the Englishman trembled.

"Did you know that Scott placed a rather nice bounty for your return?" Mathias asked suddenly. "You were supposed to go into port, but never showed up. Your commanders assumed you to be kidnapped or dead, and they contacted Scott and your brothers. Scott said a whore like you would live and sent out a prize for you." Mathias laughed crudely when Arthur flinched.

"Y-You won't tell, please?" Arthur whimpered. Mathias walked over to him, staring intently at the shaking Englishman.

"Tell what to whom, Arthur?" Mathias challenged. "Tell Scott your alive and a French whore? Of course I will! What makes you think I won't?" Arthur pushed past Mathias, scooping up Peter and running. Mathias laughed before giving chase, catching the two before they even made it to the door. "Scott would be so happy to have you back!" Mathias smirked. "Doubt he'd be mad if I scuffled you up a bit before sending you back to London." Mathias looked back at Francis, a bored look coming over his face. "Sorry Francis, but how much you want for the whore?"

Arthur did nothing to protest. He simply tried to pull away, whimpering and clutching a frozen Peter. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't cry; hot tears ran down Arthur's face. Within a moment, there was a sword pointed at Mathias’ throat. Anger blazed in the Frenchman’s eyes. “What I would want is far more than you would be willing to pay I assure you.”

Tino squeaked and ran from behind his desk. “Please, don’t fight in the store! BERWALD!”

Francis’ eyes bored into Mathias’ as he continued. “Arthur and Peter belong to me. I worked hard to capture them, and I’ve spent all this time and money making them presentable and personable and I will _not_ have that go to waste. I have been on good terms with you for several years now and for that reason I am not slitting your throat. I ask that you do not inform this Scott that I have his brothers, but if you must than you must. I am not afraid to face this man, and if he tries to take my... ‘Whore’, as you so delicately put it, away from me then I will kill him. Then I will come back here and if you are still around I will kill you.”

At that moment Berwald marched onto the scene and put a large hand on Francis’ shoulder. “’s th’re a pr’bl’m s’r?”

Mathias scoffed and let Arthur go. The Englishman stared at him, wide-eyed. At this, Mathias chuckled. "We're both grown men Arthur," Mathias said, "Think I could terrorize you now and not feel remorse?"

"THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID TO ME AS A CHILD!" Arthur screamed. "DID YOU NOT FEEL REMORSE THEN?"

"Nope," Mathias replied brightly. "You were a kid, I was a kid. Scott has his ways too, don't forget."  
Arthur said nothing, instead, choosing to bury his face in his little brother's hair.

"You and Scott tormented me restlessly," came the muffled accusation. "You find me, insult me, treat me like you used to, and now you want some kind of forgiveness?"

"Did it sound that way?" Mathias mused. "I couldn't care less." Arthur stared up at him, raw rage and hate in his emerald eyes Mathias hummed, staring back into Arthur's eyes, unflinching. "You and Scott always did have the prettiest eyes."

"Fuck you."

Mathias laughed, his laughed cut short when a man who looked similar to Emil but with a more vacant expression and a hair curl similar to that of the Vargas brothers stomped on his foot. "AH! Norge!" He whined childishly, hopping on one foot. "That hurt!"

The Norwegian man whom Francis would later name as Lukas ignored him, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the back. "I'm sorry," was all Lukas said before disappearing with Mathias, who was waving at Arthur. The Briton buried his face into the child's hair, unresponsive. Peter cast a look at Francis, a plea for help.

After a moment Arthur felt a hand on his shoulder. “It is alright, _lapin_ , he is gone. I will not let him take you away from me,” the French accented voice in his ear sounded almost soothing now, and Arthur hesitantly looked over his shoulder to meet Francis’ eyes. They looked at each other in silence for a time before Matthew hurried out to meet them.

“I-I’m sorry, Berwald told me not to move and I... well I didn’t...” Matthew gulped slightly, wearing tight cream coloured leggings, a white shirt with a high ruffled collar and a long red tailcoat over the top. He noticed the stares and gulped again. “Um, I said I thought the red would make me stand out too much...”

“ _Non non,_ Mathieu, you look wonderful just... very unlike yourself. I think you can have this for special occasions, _oui_?” Francis said with a smile, “Though for now I think you’d be best to change into your other clothes. We’ll carry those with us.”

“ _Oui Papa_ ,” Matthew said, looking relieved before heading back behind the screen to change. As he did, Francis paid for the clothes and informed Tino that he would not be getting a new outfit for himself that day and would be leaving once Matthew was ready. Tino looked upset and tried to apologize but Francis assured him that he did not blame Tino for what occurred.

“However,” Francis continued very carefully, “If such a thing happens again and Arthur is not treated with upmost respect by _all_ of your associates, then at the least I will never darken your doors again and at worst...” Francis left that hanging and Tino’s eyes widened as Matthew returned. Francis put arms around both Matthew and Arthur, shepherding Peter in front of them as they went back onto the streets.

“Now I believe you wanted candy?” Francis asked the boy in his new sailor suit, perhaps trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes please!" Peter said, his voice light but he stared at Arthur in worry. Arthur stared at the floor in silence, lost in his memories. Peter grasped Arthur's hand, squeezing tightly. Arthur blinked twice before giving a small smile.

"I'm here Peter, I'm here," he assured Peter. The boy never quite understood what Arthur meant when he said 'I'm here', but it made him feel better. Arthur sighed deeper and turned to Francis. “We still need to get new glasses for Alfred," he reminded. Peter nodded in agreement and Matthew gasped, most likely having forgotten before.

Francis’ mouth turned into a brief ‘O’ shape, clearly having forgotten as well. “ _Oui_ , well, we’ll do that first then since the eyeglass shop where I take Matthew is just down the street here. Do you know his prescription? And the size for the frames?”

"I do," Arthur answered. "Just lead the way Francis."

Francis nodded and within a few moments they were inside the shop. Arthur tried to pick a set of frames as close to Alfred’s original set as possible, although Francis did try to convince him that something with rounder frames would be more fashionable. Arthur informed him that it didn’t matter if they were fashionable, what mattered was that Alfred had to agree to wear them and as Arthur did not have any money since Francis had stolen everything from his ship, Francis paid for the glasses as well, wincing at the price.

“Always so much... well it can’t be helped, perhaps Antonio will reimburse me as a blind slave is hardly useful,” Francis muttered to himself as they left and at long last headed toward the general store a few streets over.

“You’ll like the store, they have lots of kinds of candy,” Matthew told Peter as they went. “It’s run by a very nice young lady from Switzerland and um...” he trailed off a moment, then cleared his throat, “Well, her brother works there too, but Lily is usually the one running things in the front of the house. Their chocolate is amazing! And sometimes they have maple flavoured candy! Oh, it’s really rare they have some in though, I’ve only gotten it from them maybe a handful of times...”

Peter was smiling, jumping up and down excitedly as he held Matthew's hand. Arthur smiled as he watched Peter pull Matthew along to look around the store. Arthur hung around the entrance, content to just watch Peter pick out sweets. When Peter had a small bag, he walked to the counter, waiting as Francis paid for it.

"Thank you Francis!" Peter chirped, taking Francis's hand as he walked back to the awaiting Matthew and Arthur.

"Happy, love?" Arthur asked. He blinked when two 'yes's answered. He laughed, taking Peter's hand.

"Let's go give these to Alfred," Arthur sighed. "I've had enough for today." Peter nodded in agreement, eager to eat his sweets.

Francis nodded, seeming a bit relieved as they began to head back. Matthew however noticed with surprise a shock of white hair hiding behind some bushes. Matthew tugged on Francis’ sleeve and the Frenchman looked in confusion. The group walked around the bush and noted that it was not just Gilbert, but Lovino as well hiding back there. A bit of an odd combination.

“Um, Gilbert?” Matthew asked softly, but it was enough to set Lovino off.

“ _CHIGI!_ We’ve been spotted, albino potato bastard!” The Italian shrieked and smacked Gilbert across the back of the head.

“OW! Damn it, this is the last time I’m taking you with me on spy missions!”

“Spy missions?” Francis asked with amusement in his voice.

“Francis?” Gilbert turned and grinned, “Oh it’s you. Come on, duck down! We’re spying on Ludwig and Feli, they’re on a _date_!”

“NO THEY’RE NOT!” Lovino snapped, “They’re just... hanging around... together... and holding hands... and I don’t like it!” The Italian folded his arms and grumbled.

Arthur turned; staring in the direction Lovino and Gilbert had been staring. The Italian brunette was happily speaking with a large buff blonde haired man with blue eyes that Arthur assumed was Ludwig. A small smile tugged at his lips, seeing the love in their eyes reflected.

"They're cute," Peter commented, speaking the words on Arthur's mind.

“Chigi! No they are NOT!” Lovino snapped, looking mad as hell. “That potato bastard is going to corrupt my brother!”

Gilbert snorted. “He’s gotta learn about bedroom life sooner or later my Italian friend. And don’t call my brother a bastard.”

“Ah, _l’amour_ in the country of romance,” Francis said blissfully as he watched through the bushes. “Has there been any developments?”

“Well they went to a tea shop and ALMOST kissed until this little pasta face threw a croissant across the room into Ludwig’s tea, splattering them both,” Gilbert snorted and Lovino snuck his nose in the air.

“Um, so Lovino is here so the date doesn’t go well obviously,” Matthew observed, “But why are you watching, Gilbert?”

Gilbert cackled. “Kesese! So that Lovino doesn’t ruin it too much of course, but ALSO because this is my baby brother’s first date! What kind of big brother would I be to miss it?”

“Oh...” Matthew looked down. Francis nodded.

“ _Oui_ , excellent work _mon ami_ ,” Francis patted Gilbert’s shoulder. Arthur rubbed the boy's back, making a mental note to never bring that subject up. Peter stared at the two before turned back to Lovino.

"They're still cute," Peter said. "Francis corrupted my brother, whatever that means, but I like Francis!"  
Arthur froze his back straightening.

"Who said this?" Arthur asked, a dark aura surrounding him.

"Alfred did!" Peter chirped, smiling brightly. "Why? What does it mean?"

"I'll tell you when you’re older," Arthur grumbled.

Francis and Matthew both stared dumbstruck at Peter after he mentioned he liked Francis. This was a new development. Francis suddenly broke into a bright smile and grabbed the small boy into a hug. “Oh, and I like you too _mon petit rosbif_!”

Matthew flushed and coughed in embarrassment. “Er, _Papa_ , I don’t think he can breathe like that...”

Peter seemed unaffected by the tightness of the hug as he laughed and hugged back. Arthur growled, looking away to hide the jealously in his eyes.

"I think they know we're here," Arthur alerted, pointing to Ludwig, who kept stealing glances at the bush.

Gilbert snorted and gave a nod. “Yeah, Luddy figured out they were being followed by us not long after the tea shop but he doesn’t want to ruin things by telling Feli.”

“And I’m not leaving so he won’t get any ideas about trying anything with me not around!” Lovino said confidently.

“Hmm, well I don’t want to interrupt you good work then,” Francis said finally, releasing Peter and getting to his feet. “I will see you later and I expect details! _Au reviour!_ ” The Frenchman waved and gestured for the small make-shift family to follow him back to the street. As they passed Ludwig and Feliciano, Francis gave the German a saucy wink that made his cheeks light up brick red. Feliciano waved at Matthew and told him they would all have to have pasta together later.

Eventually they made it back to the inn and converged in Alfred’s room where he was still laid up in bed sulking. Peter quickly jumped on him and began giving a full account of the day, not noticing how he hit Alfred’s arm sending him into a wave of pain.

"FFFFFF-Um. Y-Yeah? That's cool Peter!" Alfred said, smiling painfully and trying not to curse. Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes as Peter continued on, not noticing the other's pain. Arthur slipped the glasses ONTO Alfred's face. Grateful blue eyes flashed toward Arthur, before turning back to Peter in interest as the boy began to speak of their run in with Mathias.

"Mathias," Alfred murmured. "Give the word Arthur, I'll make him pay."

"You will do no such thing!" Arthur snapped. "First off, you're in no fit condition to play 'Hero', secondly, you are grounded. Not only by Antonio, but by me as well. This is my ordeal and I must go through this alone."

"You don't have to," Alfred muttered. "You choose to, and that makes it worse." Arthur was silent, unable to come up with anything to say. Alfred looked up at his father figure, mouth open to say something, but the words died on his lips. Arthur trailed his line of vision to his eyebrows. A hand slapped over them, cheeks flushing red as Alfred screeched with booming laughter.

"OH MY GOD YOU GOT YOUR EYEBROWS DONE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"BLOODY TWAT!" Arthur debated punching the American, but decided against it. Alfred was already in too much pain.

"I got mine done too," Peter piped in, squeezing Alfred's arm tightly, digging his short nails into the skin. Alfred winced before looking up at Peter's reluctance on his face.

"Not bad," he admitted. "You actually look good Pete." Peter smiled, sliding closer to Alfred.

"Hey Al," Peter said sweetly, a hint of malice in his voice. "I know my brows are sexier than Art's but don't point them out, okay?" Alfred howled with laughter again, Peter's giggles joining in.

"You lot are so cruel to the man who raised you," Arthur hissed, glaring bitterly at the two blondes as his blush grew darker. Matthew had tried hard to hide his urge to giggle along with his brother and Peter, but Francis let out a loud snort and put an arm around Arthur, drawing him close to himself.

“Now now boys, it’s not nice to tease your mother,” he tutted, his eyes sparkling maliciously as he squeezed Arthur’s arse.

Arthur squeaked in surprise, pulling away from Francis. "You're all bloody wankers!" Arthur snapped. "I'm going to bed!"

"AWWWWW! BUT IT WAS A JOKE ARTIE!" Alfred whined, flailing his free arm after Arthur as the Briton headed for the door. Peter, however, smiled up at Francis, eyes shining.

"If Arthur's our Mum, then who's our Pa?" Peter asked challengingly. Hearing this, Arthur whipped around, almost giving himself whiplash.

"YOU’RE NOT BLEEDING SUGGESTING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE SUGGESTING, ARE YOU?" Peter only giggled. At Peter’s words however, Francis’ mouth had snapped shut and he had begun staring at the far wall, though it could be suspected he wasn’t really looking at it. Matthew noticed this and frowned slightly.

“ _Papa_ , are you alright?” Matthew asked quietly. Francis made a slight choked noise and then turned a somewhat forced smile on Arthur.

“Of course he doesn’t mean anything by it,” the Frenchman said lightly, but firmly, “He was only keeping up the joke. But joking time is over, it’s time we had some dinner and afterwards everyone will be having a bath. Clean hair is nice, but it would be nice to see what the rest of you looks like without grime, _non_? I’ll see you downstairs shortly.” Having said his peace, Francis swept past Arthur and from the room toward the stairs. Matthew sighed and went to Alfred to give him a hug.

“Are you coming with us? You can’t just mope in your room all day, I’m sure Antonio won’t mind you being in the tavern for meals, it’s attached to the inn after all.” Arthur stared after Francis, small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Eh, sure. Why not? I'll come," Alfred said brightly. He glanced at Arthur, his blue eyes turning serious.

"Hey Art, after dinner, I wanna talk to you." Arthur turned back to Alfred, nodding.

"C'mon lads, let's go eat," Arthur sighed, pulling Peter up and setting him on the bed. Peter stared up at Arthur, noting the sadness in those green eyes. Alfred stood up, with a bit of help from Matthew, and followed after Peter and Arthur. Peter slipped Alfred's hand into his own, Arthur's hand already occupying his other hand.

"Now we're a family," Peter whispered.

"Peter, knock it off," Arthur said sharply, not looking at the boy. "You’re too old to be wishing for THAT again." Peter flinched, stung by the words, but said nothing.

"Arthur, I think everyone has the right to wish for a family," Alfred said softly. "Even you Art."

"I'm too old to care," was the response. Alfred smiled sadly, shaking his head.

"I think you still do." The four of them walked the rest of the way in silence. The entered the tavern and saw Antonio shooting Alfred a warning glare before sitting down at an unoccupied table.

"So you gonna share that candy after?" Alfred teased, brightening the mood.

"Of course!" Peter chirped.

"All that candy will rot your teeth," Arthur said maternally.

"So will tea!" Alfred sang out, making the two Britons laugh.

What Arthur noticed, however, was that Francis was not in the tavern, not yet anyway. In fact the group of blondes had already ordered food when Francis finally strode up, one of the prostitutes from the night before dangling from his arm. “ _Maintenant Fleur,  j’ai besoin de vous quitter, mais je vous remercie pour un temps merveilleux_.”

The girl pouted up at Francis. “ _Oh, mais generalement vous divertir moi toute la nuit!_ _Vous quitter si tot?_ ”

Francis tutted. “ _Appels devoir, mon chere, et je dois repondre._ ” With this, the Frenchman laid a kiss on the back of the girl’s hand and sent her away, likely a few gold pieces richer. Francis sat down at the table across from Arthur and beside Matthew, ordering his food as though the display had never happened.

Arthur said nothing, choosing not to say or show any of the disgust he felt. Peter simply blinked, not fully understanding at all what had transpired.

"Dude, she any good?" Alfred asked, nodding at the woman's retreating back.

Francis grinned at the boy, “She is a favourite of mine, but she is not cheap. She is also selective about her customers. If you did not look like you were recently hit by a carriage I’d say you would have a chance but she isn’t one for facial scars I’m afraid.” Matthew stole careful looks at Arthur as he ate his food, looking worried and highly embarrassed at Francis’ behaviour.

Alfred hummed. "Next time then."

"Hey Mattie," Peter spoke. "How come you're always looking embarrassed?"

"Why, Peter, why," Arthur corrected. Peter shrugged off the correction and stared at Matthew in curiosity

Matthew’s blush darkened and he played with his fork nervously. “Oh, um, well I just... I don’t know, lots of reasons I guess... I don’t like getting a lot of attention at once, but I also don’t like getting ignored and... and sometimes _Papa_ can be... er... overbearing or... um...”

Francis turned to Matthew with raised eyebrows. “Or what, Mathieu?”

“Um, nothing!” Matthew gasped and shoved food into his mouth. The Frenchman sighed and patted Matthew’s arm.

“Do not choke yourself,” he said, “And I am only overbearing because you are even more adorable when you are flustered!” Matthew squeaked and bent low over his plate, using his hair to shield his heated face. Peter smiled.

"It's because he's related to the hero!" Alfred laughed loudly, hugging his brother tightly. Arthur shook his head with a sigh and stood up.

"I have to use the toilet," Arthur announced. Ignoring the strange looks, he walked off. Arthur locked himself in the bathroom stall, breathing deeply. His chest hurt, and for the second day, he felt drained emotionally.

"So you’re looking for me, eh Scott?" Arthur asked quietly, speaking to himself to calm the nerves. "Couldn't stand not knowing where I am hmm? I bet you’re at my house right now, staring out at the cliffs with a joint in your teeth. Probably have Peter's rabbit in your hand, the one that used to belong to me, the one that you gave me. You bastard." Arthur sat on the floor, feeling the tears gather. "I don't know how to feel anymore; for once I wish you were here, screaming at me what emotion I should be feeling. I'm so confused, have been for the past days, and I blame you, you wanker. You and Francis. You tossers will be the death of me, but I beg now. Let me and Peter live in solitude. He's going to leave me one day, and that'll be the day I die. I can't stop it from coming Scott, and it's coming closer now thanks to that wanker. I want...Scott I want a family. God, I know you’re not here, and lord will I ever be telling this to you without receiving a punch to the face, but I need to tell someone. God damn you brother, god damn you." Familiar shoes stepped near the door, making Arthur's heart stop.

"Artie, come on. If you where depressed, all you had to do was ask for a shoulder to cry on," Alfred's voice wafted softly. "C'mon Dad, I'm still here, aren't I?" Arthur stood up, opening the stall and letting Alfred engulf him in a bear hug.

"I'm too old to fall for fancy tricks," Alfred hummed, "But too young to leave your side yet. Leave your brothers out of your future Dad; they'll only cause pain for your future. Just. The way they are now. Crying to Scott, that's a bit rash, ain't it Art?" Alfred rubbed Arthur's back as the Briton sobbed. Alfred heard someone else enter the bathroom, but Arthur had not.

“ _Ch-chigi_!” Lovino gasped when he saw the two and ran over looking alarmed. “What the hell is wrong with him? Alfred?” Lovino frowned up at the tall America, “What the fuck did you do this time?”

"Brother issues," Alfred replied, irritated that the Italian was quick to blame him. Arthur looked up at Lovino, his pitiful green eyes full of tears.

"Sorry," Arthur muttered, rubbing at his eyes. "I-I'll just leave." Alfred grabbed Arthur's wrist, surprised when Lovino grabbed the other.

“Bastard, I didn’t say you had to leave,” Lovino growled, but although his eyes were hard his voice held a note of sympathy. “You can’t go out there looking like that, you want Francis to think he broke you or something? Come over here,” Lovino pulled Arthur toward the sink wet a corner of the small towel set beside it, using it to wipe Arthur’s surprised face. Then he dried it off with the other part.

Lovino took a deep breath. “I don’t know if this is really about brothers, or if it’s about Francis, or whatever, but I’ve had problems in both those fields. I don’t know the details of yours but I know this, you’ve gotta hold your ground and never give in to anybody unless you damn well feel like it! Er...” Lovino flushed and turned away, as if suddenly aware of what he was doing. “A-anyway, I’ve got to piss bastards!” He snapped, “You’re clean enough so... so stop crying and get back out there! And!” Lovino’s gaze turned hard again, “If Francis fucking with whores pisses you off, get fucking mad at him for it! Don’t sit there and take it like it doesn’t fucking matter! If nothing else, they could have fucking diseases that could get passed to you! Now get out of here!” The Italian huffed and went to the trough in the wall that was used as a urinal. Arthur stared after Lovino, surprise still on his face. He turned to Alfred. The American had an amused face on, staring after Lovino before turning his eyes back to Arthur.

"He's blunt and awfully cruel most of the time," Alfred explained with a shrug. "But he's a good friend, loyal, and knows how to comfort. Kinda. At least he gives good motivational speeches, right?"  
Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Let's go, Arthur," Alfred said. "Stop feeling like the world is going to turn on you. You can't deny happiness for long, you'll only end up like Scott."

Arthur walked past Alfred, silent. Just before he reached the door, he turned and called out, "Thank you Lovino."

He turned and continued walking; Alfred following after Alfred had screamed a "BYE VINO!" The two sat back down; ignoring the looks the other three blondes shot them.

"As I was saying," Peter continued, glancing at Arthur before turning his gaze back to Francis. "I wanna spend the night, please Francis? I haven't slept with my brother since you took us. Please, oh please, oh please?"

Francis sighed, looking a bit sulky, “Well...” he glanced at Arthur and straightened little when he noticed the pink tint in his eyes. “I... I suppose just this one night-“ he was cut off by the loud cheer Peter gave and he glared and put up a hand, “ONE NIGHT. That’s all.” Peter jumped into his brother's arms, almost knocking them both over.

"Artie! Art! Arthur!" Peter sang, "I'm sleeping with you." Arthur brightened at this, a large smile spreading across his face. Peter poked Arthur's cheek, but said no more, content to simply be held by his brother.

“So I get to lose sleep over your snoring," Arthur teased lightly, laughing when Peter protested.

"Dudes, we should all just sleep together in this huge mad dog pile together!" Alfred suggested enthusiastically. Arthur's smile grew fonder.

"No way Al! Art's mine, I got dibs!" Peter said brightly.

"Hey!"

Arthur laughed, pulling Alfred into a hug as well. "Oh boys, what am I going to do with you two?"

Suddenly a lecherous look crossed Francis’ face, “Well, a, ah, big mad dog pile would be entertaining, but I’m afraid not everyone here is of age and some are related. And besides,” the smile faded into a knowledgeable smirk, “I’m fairly certain that the beds at this inn do not hold five people. Of course if you are lonely, I’m sure Mathieu will sleep with you.” Matthew coughed and looked mortified and a bit disgusted. “Of course I only mean that innocently!” Francis clarified, making Matthew relax.

“Oh well... I don’t mind then.” 

Alfred and Arthur shot Francis matching looks, Peter looking back and forth between the two in confusion. "You meant that in a sexual way," they both said.

"Wanker," Arthur added. The Briton picked up Peter, growling when the boy tugged at his hair.

"Well, I suppose I'll give Peter that bath you were speaking of this morning," Arthur sighed.

"Yay! Bath time with brother!"

"Aw what? I wanna bathe with Iggy!"

"WANKER!" Arthur snapped, slapping Alfred over the head, his face red. "You’re too old for that."

"Aw," Alfred pouted.

Francis chuckled and to up to walk behind Arthur, snaking his arms around his waist despite him holding onto Peter, and whispered into his ear, “Well don’t bother wasting Peter’s soap on yourself, because I’m quite looking forward to bathing with you later, _lapin_.” The Frenchman released Arthur as the Englishman shivered and shot him a look of rage. Francis waved his fingers back. “I will be waiting in our room, so when you are finished you can leave Peter with Mathieu and come to me. Peter may join us afterwards.” Arthur glared, plans to disobey already running through his head.

"Let's go Peter," Arthur sighed. Peter smiled brightly, humming as his brother carried him to his shared room, Alfred and Matthew following behind.

"Hey Mat, we should take a bath like we used to when we where little!" Alfred teased, poking his brother's red cheek. Despite Matthew's refusal, Alfred dragged his brother off in the direction of his own. Arthur continued on, finally reaching the room, and eventually, the bathroom. Arthur set Peter down with the order to strip. As his brother obeyed, he turned on the tap, quickly drawing warm water. Once he himself was stripped of his clothing, he folded it and set it aside with Peter's. The two Britons slipped in, sighing as the water soothed their bodies. Arthur grabbed the bar of soap near the sink and began to wash his brother's face. Peter giggled, watching the suds become airborne and pop. Arthur smiled fondly, scrubbing furiously at his hand and blowing the suds into the air for Peter's enjoyment.

"Can I wash you?" Peter asked, wiping water away from his eyes as Arthur wrenched away the soap from his body. Arthur gave up the soap, silent as small hands scrubbed as his shoulders. Eventually, he took the soap away from his brother to clean his vitals. At last, Arthur put the soap back and reached for the shampoo, squeezing a bit onto Peter's hair and then his own. The two scratched at each other's hair, calmed by each other's fingers. After rinsing off a final time, Arthur got out and dried off his brother, giggling as Peter was engulfed by the puffy towel.

He put on his own clothes and went out to put Peter's clothes away and take out a set of sleepwear. After abandoning all attempts to make Peter leave his new hat, he scooped up the boy and carried him to his room. "Francis, I have Peter so you better be decent," Arthur said loudly, banging on the door. Peter covered his eyes, as instructed, and Arthur opened the door, rolling his eyes when he saw Francis scrambling to cover himself with the bedcovers.

“ _Sacre bleu!_ I told you to leave Peter with Mathieu!” Francis snapped, though it resembled more of a whine as he drew the blankets over himself. He pouted. “I suppose you washed yourself as well. Well then, I have no choice but to forgo bathing one more day.” He grinned maliciously, “Do not worry, I’ll make certain you’re dirty enough for another bath tomorrow evening. Though for now, keep his eyes covered,” Francis instructed as he slipped out of the sheets and went through his clothes to find some underwear. However once those were on he returned to the bed, clearly with no intention of wearing more than that. He gave Arthur a saucy wink. Arthur set Peter down, guiding him to the corner and making him sit on a stool there.

"I'm going to change, keep those eyes closed," Arthur ordered. Sending Francis a glare, he took out his own sleepwear and scampering into the bathroom, locking it in case Francis decided to barge in. Once changed, he walked back out, finding Peter and Francis sharing the candy on the bed. Arthur only shook his head, not outright scolding them. He put the clothes away and slipped onto the bed, leaving Francis to be the only one under the covers.

"Hey Art! I got gumdrops for you," Peter chirped. "I know how much you love those and chocolate."  
Peter dropped a few pieces of candy into Arthur's awaiting hand.

"Thank you Peter," Arthur smiled, kissing the boy's forehead. He then promptly tossed a gumdrop into his mouth, smiling widely as soon as the sugary sweet had touched his tongue. He let out a delighted moan and popped another one in. Francis quirked an eyebrow, then leaned forward when Arthur was not paying attention and kissed him square on the lips, jamming his tongue into the man’s mouth and wrapping a hand around the back of his neck to keep him there as he snatched up the gumdrop with his tongue and drew it into his own mouth, breaking away as Arthur sputtered in protest.

“Hmm, you are right _lapin_ , it is very good.” The Frenchman leaned back on the pillows and sucked on the gum drop, seemingly savouring it but really he was just taunting the Brit. Ignoring his red face and thrumming heart, he turned his attention to Peter, who was staring at them both with wide eyes. Arthur swallowed nervously, the taste of Francis slipping down his throat teasingly.

"Don't do that to my brother." Peter was glaring at Francis now, his eyes a dark shade of blue. Arthur bit his lip, nervously glancing at Francis.

"Um, I think that's enough candy for now, Peter."

Francis raised his eyebrows at the small Brit, “Don’t do what? Steal his candy? Hmm, perhaps you are right, that was a bit mean. If he wants it back he’s free to take it.” Francis looked at Arthur, poking the sweet between his lips. The stricken expression and harsher glare from Peter was enough for him to chuckle and swallow it however.  “Don’t kiss him, I suppose you mean,” Francis turned his head so he was completely looking at Peter. The smile remained on his lips but his eyes narrow slightly, dangerously. “And why would you want me to stop doing that?”

"Because when we're free again, Arthur's gonna marry a nice lady and make her into a Mum for me," Peter replied back. Arthur, surprised by this new information, turned his full attention to Peter, one eyebrow raised.

"When did I agree to this?" Arthur asked.

"Just now," Peter replied. "Had it in my thoughts for awhile."

Francis scoffed. “He will have some difficulty finding a woman when he acts so much like one himself. And what makes you think you will ever be free again? Perhaps you’ve become confused because I’ve been spoiling you with candy and new clothes, but I assure you that both you and Arthur belong to a ruthless pirate captain and to attempt to escape from me would be a serious mistake on your part.”

The Frenchman gave Peter a hard look and then sighed, giving a dramatic shrug and falling back onto the pillows. “I don’t understand why you would wish to leave anyway. You’re provided for, I haven’t abused either of you in any way, what could I possibly have done to upset you so much?”

"Taken the freedom I've spilt too much blood over just to gain," Arthur mumbled, not realizing the words had left his mouth.

"You're taking my brother away from me," Peter said, his rage melting to loneliness. "I miss him. It's not the same anymore, he's always with you or working and I can't follow him around like before. Any moments I have with him are short, and not enough for me. I need his attention, or so help me lord I might turn into him! Always searching for something, what that something is, I don't think even brother knows! I want to be there for him because I know whatever it is he's holding back, I help push it farther. On top of that, I know I'm a spoiled child whom Arthur would easily kill or be killed for. Alfred has told me so many times." Arthur stared at the boy, shock in his eyes and an ache in his heart. Had Peter always been that observant, or was this something new? "Why did you keep Arthur?" Peter asked. Arthur, although curious on this subject as well, covered his brother's mouth.

"That's enough!" He hissed, feeling his eyes burn. "You’re a child, you don't know what you’re talking about or the consequences that would come if you open those tightly locked doors. Now, you are going to bed and I don't want to hear another word of this." Peter stared; a swirling of so many emotions in his eyes that Arthur couldn't tell which were which.

Francis frowned at Peter’s question and looked away moodily, his eyes raking over the unobtrusive painting of flowers that hung on the wall. “ _Oui_ , it has been a long day for all of us,” Francis said quietly, but contrary to this he got out of bed and began pulling on his day clothes. “I am going to... get some air. You two should get into bed,” Francis said as he headed for the door. As he reached for the handle of the door however he paused and though he did not turn around he spoke again “I suppose... the reason I kept him... why I still keep him... is because when I am with him I am reminded of someone...” Francis’ voice broke here, slightly, “Someone I used to...” Francis stopped speaking, then, and left the room. The door closed sharply and the Britons could hear his footsteps moving quickly down the hall. Arthur's hand fell limp, Peter watching in confusion as Arthur's eyes watered.

"I'm a..." Arthur stopped himself, shaking his head. He picked up Peter, getting off the bed and laying the boy in. "Goodnight, lad," Arthur murmured, kissing Peter's forehead.

"Arthur?"

"Go to bed, I don't want to hear it." Arthur blew out the lights and crawled into bed with Peter, making sure the boy was tucked in properly. Peter snuggled into Arthur's chest. An unspoken plea passed between them, and the old Irish lullaby was sung, too low to be heard unless one strained to hear it. Peter smiled softly, and was soon fast asleep. Even long after, Arthur repeated the song over and over, the only lifeline his brothers had ever tossed him. A lifeline he still clung too, however old and worn it was. He couldn't sleep, even with the day's past events, Arthur found himself unable to fall asleep. He laid there, stroking the boy's hair, listening to the song on his lips and the boy's soft snores. A long time passed before the door was opened again, and Francis walked in. Arthur ignored him, and the feeling of being watched.

Francis could be heard moving around the room, the soft sound of cloth hitting the floor likely meaning he was getting undressed. However, before getting into the bed Arthur’s carefully tuned ears heard him come up to his side of the bed, and he felt the Frenchman stare at him so intensely Arthur thought he might sense it even if he were asleep.

After a time, Arthur heard the Frenchman let out a soft sigh and his heartbeat quickened as he felt hair being moved out of his face, though he fought hard to keep his breathing deep and even so to feign sleep, even faking some soft snores. Then, softly, too softly for him to have heard had it not been so very quiet in the room, Francis murmured, “And if I told you I cared for you? Would you still leave? Probably,” A quiet laugh, “Probably run all the faster. Pointless.” Despite these words, the next thing he felt before the Frenchman moved to his own side of the bed was a soft, undemanding kiss against is cheek. The Frenchman then got into bed, but although his breathing slowed, come morning Arthur still wasn’t sure if either of them had truly fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH. 8 TRANSLATIONS
> 
> Je suis sur mon chemin! - (French) I’ll be right there!
> 
> It est toujours merveilleux de vous voir - (French) it is always wonderful to see you
> 
> Et tu, Mathieu, avez-tu grandi depuis que j’ai vu la dernière? - (French) and you, Mathieu, have you grown since I saw you last?
> 
> Non, je ne crois pas. Il est bon de vous voir aussi, Sophie. - (French) No, I don’t think so. It’s good to see you too
> 
> Vous avez plus avec vous C’est inhabituel. Sont-its des amis ou des membres d’équipage de nouvelles? - (French) You have more with you? This is unusual. Are they friends or new crew members?
> 
> Je suis Arthur Kirkland, heureux de vous rencontrer madame - (French) I am Arthur Kirkland, pleased to meet you miss
> 
> Maintenant Fleur, j’ai besoin de vous quitter, mais je vous remercie pour un temps merveilleux. - (French) Now Fleur, I need to leave you, but thank you for a wonderful time.
> 
> Oh, mais generalement vous divertir moi toute la nuit! Vous quitter si tot? - (French) Oh, but you usually entertain me all night! You leave so soon?
> 
> Appels devoir, mon chere, et je dois repondre. - (French) Call of duty, my dear, and I must answer


	9. Let's Fall

**Chapter 9: Let’s Fall**

After the events of the previous night, Arthur was left feeling rather melancholy at the breakfast table. While Peter seemed to have slept well curled into his arms Arthur had dark circles beneath his eyes and found himself frequently fighting back yawns. It didn’t help that the view from the windows was of a grey sky that looked like rain may threaten later. Altogether, things looked rather gloomy.

It also didn’t help that Francis had seen fit to force them all to get up earlier than usual and had sent Peter to Matthew immediately to get dressed for the day. The Frenchman had snapped at them in irritation when Peter protested that he wanted Arthur to come with him, and had gone as far as to threaten to never let Peter see his brother again if he didn’t get back to his room at that instant. This had caused the boy to well up with tears and Arthur was now giving Francis the silent treatment, even though the man had looked honestly remorseful for causing the boy grief and even though Arthur suspected that Francis was just as tired as he was if the matching dark circles beneath his eyes were anything to go by. The silent treatment was starting to prove depressing as well though as thus far Matthew, Alfred and Peter hadn’t gotten around to coming to breakfast yet and only Francis and Alfred were left sitting at the table by the window of the tavern, staring blankly out onto the grey sky outside. Francis tried to make conversation a couple of times, but without any response he appeared to have given up about ten minutes prior.

Or so Arthur had thought before Francis said something completely ridiculous. He was not even looking at Arthur as he spoke, still having his eyes trained blankly out the window and his voice sounded far away, but thoughtful. “We should go on a date.”

"A date."

Those were the first words out of Arthur's mouth all morning, and it sounded more like a statement rather than a question. "Are you mad?"

Arthur tried to look appalled by the thought, but had obviously failed by the look Francis was giving him. The thought of going on a date actually thrilled him. He had never been on one, never had the chance to. What with three over-controlling abusive brothers, who did?

Francis raised an eyebrow, looking serious enough. “I don’t think I’m mad, _cheri_. It could be... entertaining, I think, to go on a date. Do you object to the idea?”

Arthur blinked, the refusal on his lips dying. The rebellious side of him that had lain dormant since he was a teenager sparked to life. A date, the very thing that encouraged friendships, which his brothers had swayed him from.  A thoughtful smirk fell onto his face, emerald eyes sparking.

"Hmm. That actually doesn't sound so bad, frog." He shook away the thoughts of fights, rum, and tight black clothes. It was fun to be daring and adventurous like when he was young, but the lifestyle that had come with those years had been bloody and warmongering.

 “Then let’s go,” Francis said, pushing himself out of his seat and leaving the money on the table. He held out his arm to Arthur with sparkling eyes, his lips tugged upward again. Arthur tossed a glance at the door, searching for Peter, Alfred, or Matthew. Not finding them, he shrugged and stood up. He linked his arm into Francis's, faintly blushing and cursing the height difference. He followed Francis, letting him lead him out of the tavern and out into the streets, crowded only by the early morning busybodies.

Francis led Arthur through many streets, not speaking to him, so Arthur assumed Francis knew where he was going. However he did notice that they had been walking for quite some time. Just when Arthur was about to ask if the Frenchman actually had gotten them lost, he and Francis came upon a gate between two of the tightly packed buildings in the small town. The gate was tall and surrounded by ivy, and Arthur could not see beyond it.

Francis saw Arthur’s confused face and gave a knowing look. “You will like this, you seem the type,” he said with a wink as he pulled out a key and used it to open the gate, leading Arthur through. The Englishman had to gasp as they entered a rather beautiful garden. It wasn’t particularly large, but it had numerous breeds of flowers with ivy crawling up the walls between the buildings and the fence beyond. On the far end of the garden were a white gazebo and a brick path led from it to the gate. Arthur let go of Francis, walking faster to take in all the wonder. He bent down numerous times to smell a rose there, a thistle here, or a tulip somewhere. He gazed out lovingly at the collaboration of colors, each blending with each other. He didn't protest when Francis took his hand and pulled him to the gazebo.

"Francis, this place is amazing," he breathed out. Dazzled eyes still focused on the beauty, desperate to memorize it and lock it away with other precious memories. "It's beautiful." A pained feeling came to his chest, making his knees weak. He let himself fall down slowly, still holding Francis's hand as tears of pure joy fell. He laughed, wiping away a few tears with his free hand. "Thank you."

Francis watched Arthur contently until the Brit was overcome by emotion. At this the Frenchman’s eyes widened, not expecting such an intense reaction. “ _Lapin_? Are you alright?” he asked, kneeling on the ground beside Arthur and tilting the Brit’s face toward him with his free hand. “I did not think you would like it quite this much... though if you’d like we can return here when we come to this port again. I know the woman who owns this garden.”

"I would like that very much," Arthur murmured. "It was...it was the only thing that made my Mum stir from whatever world she hid in; flowers. No amount of screams of blood made her so much as blink, but if I brought her a crumpled daisy that dared to grow near our home, she smiled. It made me develop a love for flowers of any kind. I always wanted to have a garden like this, but the salty air where we lived back in England killed anything I tried to grow." Arthur reached up and placed a loving kiss on the surprised Frenchman's cheek. "This is really kind Francis," Arthur sighed. "Thank you. As for the offer to return, yes. I'd love that."

Francis’ cheeks flushed pink and he stared at Arthur for a moment. The next moment, his lips were on Arthur’s, wrapping the smaller man up in his arms and deepening the kiss. Arthur squirmed a little a first, but soon melted into it and the two remained there for quite a while before finally breaking apart for air, Francis looking at Arthur with lust filled eyes, breathing heavily. Suddenly a grin spread across his face as he leaned forward again, this time placing a hand over Arthur’s vital regions and squeezing lightly. “Care to show me your appreciation?”

Arthur blushed, burying his face into Francis's neck. Something told him not to, to stop and run, but a bigger part of him told him to open and let go. A voice rose from somewhere in the back of him head, whispering to him.

_'My Arthur, bloom where you can'_

Arthur stared up at Francis, green eyes swimming with trust.  "Okay." He pulled Francis down, connecting their lips as they lay on the gazebo floor. Francis moaned into the kiss and was quick to work his hands under Arthur’s shirt and up to tweak his nipples, finally pulling the shirt over the smaller man’s head and laying it aside. Then he leaned down to lap at Arthur’s chest, lavishing the perked nubs with attention of both his tongue and fingers. "A-Ah!" Arthur arched into Francis's mouth, closing his eyes to feel the full pleasurable sensation. He let loose small whimpers and moans, trembling with the emotions that where welling and with the actions being done to his body. Fingers ran lovingly through Francis's hair, encouraging him. "Francis," he breathed out, humming.

Francis grinned against Arthur’s chest, rising up to nibble at his neck and ear for a time before drifting down again, swirling his tongue in the Brit’s navel as he undid the button on his trousers, pulling on them gently as Arthur rose his hips to help the Frenchman work them and his underwear off. Arthur was feeling himself grow heavy headed as Francis took off his own clothes and bore down on his again, the hot wetness of the Frenchman’s mouth surrounding his cock and scent of flowers, roses particularly, permeated the air. He was, quite frankly, in heaven.

"Francis." The name rolled off his tongue like a mantra, adding to the surrounding environment. Who he was and where he was, he no longer knew. Too occupied by the loving way he was handled, warm and full. Different from all the others times that where so cold and distant. "Francis." Francis picked up speed, delighting in the gasps, pants, and lazy moans that he drew from Arthur's mouth. Hands clamped down pale hips to stop the Englishman from bucking deeper into his mouth, drawing a whine as its reward. Arthur felt the coil in his stomach growing, the end nearing. "Francis. Francis, I think...I think...AH!"

The rest of the words where lost as Arthur released, falling back limp. Francis greedily sucked the white liquid, swallowing. He crawled back onto Arthur, kissing the Briton’s cheek. Then the Frenchman leaned in to Arthur’s ear and whispered, “I would fuck you right here as well, _cheri_ , but I’m saving that for tonight.” He punctuated the statement by giving the Brit’s ear a nip and then continued, “Although your moans have given me a bit of a problem, so if you could return the favour?”

Arthur nodded, his common sense clogged by the aroma of flowers around him. It reminded him faintly of the rum that would slow down his functions. Francis sat back to expose himself to Arthur. Arthur wrapped his mouth around the tip, sucking energetically. Although he had gotten much better at this activity, he still had a long way to go before reaching Francis's level. He slowed his pace down, rolling his tongue around the shaft in slow languid licks that left Francis moaning loudly. Arthur abandoned the shaft, turning his attention to sucking gently on the other's balls. A hand gripped Arthur's hair tightly, making him whine, and drew him back up to the tip. Arthur latched on, the grip in his hair not releasing, but not shoving down on him either. Emerald eyes flickered up to view Francis's flustered face. Baby blue ones opened to meet emerald, emotions swirling in both pairs. With a final suck, Francis released with a sigh, letting go of Arthur's hair. The Briton swallowed most, but a bit of it spilled from his mouth, dribbling down his chin. A pink tongue darted out to lap up any within reach.

Francis smirked and leaned in one more time to brush his lips against Arthur’s before drawing away quickly and grabbing his clothes, throwing Arthur’s back to him. “Get dressed quickly, _lapin_ , there is more to do on this date. In fact, I don’t think it’s quite noon yet, we should get lunch,” Francis glanced at the sun almost, but not quite, directly overhead. Arthur started to pull his clothes on but felt eyes on him so turned to see Francis still naked and holding a rose in front of his vitals, or at least it looked that way from Arthur’s line of vision. This didn’t last long however as the Frenchman lifted it to his nose and sniffed, before winking at Arthur and handing him the flower. “It suits you, _non_? Tuck it into your vest pocket,” he said as he got dressed and ended up, to Arthur’s surprise, taking a white lily and tucking it into his own pocket. “I’m not as certain you will like the cafe we are going to _cheri_ but I like it, and dates should have things both parties enjoy.”

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Francis," Arthur assured. When offered, Arthur linked his arm with Francis's and let him lead him away from the garden to his dismay, and out back into the street. At this, Francis chuckled. They continued walking along to their destination, when passersby began to smile at them, openly making comments about the beauty of love between two men.  Francis naturally smiled back at all the passersby, holding Arthur closer and even, as they passed a group of particularly interested girls, leaned in to kiss Arthur on the temple. Arthur’s red blush the girls screamed in excitement, fanning themselves as the two made their way through streets until they happened upon the cafe to which Francis was leading.

“Ah, the owner of this particular cafe also happens to own the garden I took you to, so we should not have to worry about seating, or a bill,” Francis said as they approached the door, “The owner is a Hungarian woman, her husband plays music for the patrons and she cooks and occasionally serves. I would come here more often but usually I am travelling with Gilbert and Antonio, and Gilbert is not exactly welcome here...” Francis cleared his throat with a hand on the door, “Strictly speaking, I am not exactly welcome here anymore either, but when I mentioned to her that I may take a date of the masculine variety here she became very warmed to the idea of my patronage,” the Frenchman then pushed open the door and walked in to a very crowded cafe with all tables taken. Francis assured Arthur that it would be fine and it seemed he was right because within five minutes a woman with long, wavy brown hair and a neat checkered apron looked up from across the room and nearly bolted toward them, stopping and giving them both a large grin.

"Hello! Welcome!" The woman greeted pleasantly. "I'm Elizaveta, please, please. Come in!" The woman led them way into the back, opening a door that led outside. A single table rested in the middle of another flower garden, a white umbrella offering shade.

"Wow!" Arthur breathed, taking a few steps away from Francis to admire the flowers. Francis shot her a glance, which she waved off.

"Well, you know my name, but I don't know yours," Elizaveta said, indicating for the two to sit.

"Oh! Forgive my manners!" Arthur gasped, bowing deeply. "I'm Arthur Kirkland, nice to meet you ma'am. And might I add, the gardens you own are spectacular!"

Elizaveta giggled. "They're nothing, please, sit. I'll bring refreshments out immediately." She handed the two menus from her pocket and left.

"It's really beautiful," Arthur sighed happily, staring dreamily at the flowerbeds.

Francis smiled softly, “I am glad you like it, _lapin._ ” The Frenchman opened his menu and began to scan it, and when Arthur was looking down at his own Francis snuck a glance over his shoulder toward the building, giving a frown before turning back. Inside from her hiding place at a secret hole in the wall watching their every move, Elizaveta giggled.

Roderich, her husband, came up behind her and tapped her on his shoulder. “Er, dear, do you plan to serve any other customers today? Or... ah,” he caught the look in her eye and sighed in defeat, “I’ll take care of it then.”

"Thank you Roddy!" Elizaveta chirped. She turned back to watching the two. A few minutes later, she stood up and went to fetch the tea for Arthur and Francis.

"Hmm. Everything sounds good," Arthur hummed, still looking at the map when Elizaveta walked out.

"Still deciding?" She asked, setting a cup in front of each man.

"Oh, well, I still am," Arthur mumbled sheepishly. "I dunno about Francis."

Francis smiled at Elizaveta and took a sip of the tea. “Perhaps it would be best for lunch if you brought us a plate with a variety of appetizers to share? That is light enough and will allow Arthur to sample several things from the menu, so he knows what he likes for the future, does that agree with you, _lapin?_ ” As Francis spoke he reached across the table to grab Arthur’s hand, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it softly. Elizaveta’s eyes sparkled. A light coating of pink dusted across Arthur's cheeks.

"Yeah, that sounds brilliant actually," Arthur agreed.

"I'll get that right away!" Elizaveta said brightly. She carried the empty tray away, immediately barking out orders as soon as she reached the kitchen. With her orders underway, she went back to her hiding place to watch. Arthur, his hand still being held by Francis, blushed deeper, at loss for conversation. He was never really good with small talk that didn't involve work.

"So, um, nice weather?"

“ _Oui_ , it was very grey out this morning but now it is rather beautiful,” Francis said, his smile charming, though Arthur would loath to admit it. And he was right too, although the morning had seemed to threaten rain at the moment the sun was shining brightly. It could be a temporary state but no one was going to complain about it.

Francis’ eyes seemed to shine in that light as he gently ran his thumb over Arthur’s hand. “Though even if the sky was grey, your face would still make it beautiful,” Francis grinned at Arthur, and the Englishman sputtered, not knowing what to make of such an incredibly cheesy line. He looked away stubbornly, willing his blush away. The feeling of eyed watching him made him turn to face Francis.

"Well," Arthur tried again. "C-Can you tell me a bit about yourself? You know a bit about me, I think."

“A bit about myself, you say? I suppose there is no harm in that. Since you’ve told me of your childhood I suppose I can tell you about mine, _non_?” Francis’ smiled dropped as he appeared a think for a moment, then it returned and his eyes closed in reminiscence. “I grew up on a vineyard in the French countryside, with my younger sister Angeline and our parents. I loved them all quite dearly, and the vineyards were always beautiful. I was quite looking forward to taking them over when I came of age, but...” Francis sighed, and his smile fell again, his eyes opening slightly, “Then tragedy struck, while we were in church one morning when I was sixteen and my sister was eight. You don’t think of horrible things happening in churches, they are supposed to be places protected by God, but I suppose he must have been busy with something else that day.”

Francis looked down at their entwined hands as he continued, “In the middle of mass, we smelled smoke. I suppose old wooden churches _are_ prone to fires. The flames were blocking the exits. Someone managed to break a window, but the smoke was thick and suffocating. Most adults were to big too pass through the windows of the church but I was small for my age at sixteen and went out first to catch the children as they were passed out through the window. My mother was a small woman too, and might’ve made it, but she was determined to stay until she was certain all the children were safe and the smoke overcame her in the end. By the time help came, a great many children from the surrounding villages and in town had become orphans. I intended to go back to the vineyard, but I had neighbours who had not been in church that day who wanted the land. Even though I was sixteen my neighbours had it declared I was fit for the orphanage, and so that is where they sent myself and Angeline.” Francis trailed off here as Elizaveta came out with the appetizers, trying to be inconspicuous so as not to interrupt the ‘moment’. Arthur was silent, hiding the shock that he felt.

"Here you go," Elizaveta said brightly, setting the plates full of various foods down. She refilled their drinks and left. As soon as she was out of earshot, Arthur cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, a feeling of kinship in his heart. "It's in the past, I know, and saying it never helps. Words can't and won't change the past, I know, but the words still need to be said."

Francis’ lips twitched sadly. “ _Merci_ , but you should know that while the event itself was sad, the outcome wasn’t as horrible as it might have been. My parents died heroes saving the children of my town, their deaths were noble. And it was not so bad, in the orphanage. In fact, that was where I met Gilbert and Antonio, and Gilbert’s brother Ludwig, and became friends with them. Well, not so much with Ludwig...” Francis winced. “But still, the nuns were very kind people. Gilbert being seventeen at the time and Antonio fifteen, the same as Ludwig, we all knew we were likely not to be adopted and would simply be waiting until we were eighteen before leaving to make our way on our own. Angeline, however, being the beautiful young girl she was had many offers for adoption. She refused to leave me however and while Gilbert got some work in town for a year after he left to stay close to his brother, when I turned eighteen as well I was given custody of Angeline and Antonio and Ludwig were approved to leave early. We all left together. Gilbert declared that he knew a young man who could help us find work.” Francis snorted suddenly and then his eyes widened as he glanced back toward the house. He turned back to Arthur and dropped his voice so that Arthur had to lean in to hear.

“As it happened, that young man was in a port town... _this_ port town in fact,” Francis stifled another laugh, “Apparently they had been exchanging letters since childhood and his friend always went by ‘Eli’. We get here and imagine his surprise when he realises the young man he spoke of was none other than a young lady! She seemed surprised as he sputtered about it, saying she thought he would’ve figured it out years ago like she did,” Francis shook his head, “Apparently as children, she had actually believed herself a boy as well, but obviously she was told otherwise as she grew older. I suppose that’s not something you include in letters. Still, it is _tres_ amusing, _non_? Oh, and of course that young woman,” Francis’ voice dropped even lower, “Is the one who served us these lovely appetizers.” With that said, Francis picked up a brine shrimp coated in garlic butter and popped it into his mouth.

Arthur chuckled, a small smile on his face. He took a bite of the fried fish, humming appreciatively at the familiar taste, and turned his attention back to Francis. "What happened after that?" He asked after swallowing, truly curious to know more.

“After that?” Francis paused, looking a little uncomfortable but continued, “Well, after that Elizaveta and her young husband Roderich helped us find jobs in the town. In a place like this where strangers can be dangerous, connections are important to have. They had just opened the restaurant and Elizaveta originally hired Gilbert on to help her wait tables, but it was soon discovered that he isn’t exactly... people friendly. Not to the degree to serve them directly at least. I was hired on in his place, and Angeline would also help by washing dishes in the kitchen. Gilbert and Ludwig got jobs on the docks loading and unloading ships, and Antonio worked in the candy store with Sophie,” Francis brightened here, “Oh, Sophie was not always a hair stylist. That was after we left, she sold the candy store to Lily and Vash when she decided she had more of a talent and love for hair.  We were happy like that, meeting every weekend at the tavern for drinks and working during the week. I was able to afford to put Angeline in pretty clothes and as we were friends with Sophie she kept everyone’s hair incredibly stylish...” the Frenchman sighed happily, but then cleared his throat. “I think that is enough for now, don’t you?” he said suddenly, and ate another morsel from the plate.

Arthur blinked, but said nothing. He really wanted to know what the Frenchman was hiding, but something told him not to pry too much. If he did, things would get ugly. At least that's what he learned through life experiences. But...

"But I want to know." It wasn't until Francis gave him a look that made Arthur realize the words had unintentionally slipped from his mouth.

"Francis, I..." the Briton was at loss for words. Nothing now could take back the slip though. Arthur took a deep breath to steady his nervousness. "I want to hear more," Arthur said quietly. "I want to know what it is that haunts you."

Francis frowned and examined the bit of food in his hand. “That is hardly good meal time conversation, _mon cher_. We wouldn’t want to be put off this lovely plate, _non?_ ” Francis’ voice was sharp and his eyes now flickered to Arthur’s as though daring him to ask again and see what would happen.

Arthur only sighed, nodding an agreement. He took a bite, not really tasting it. Realizing that their hands were still linked together, Arthur focused on them. It seemed to him as though the Frenchman wanted him close, but far away. This confused the man, used to straightforward behavior. His brothers were blunt, Alfred was never afraid to speak up if pissed or happy, and Peter was too dependent on Arthur to care. It felt, for some strange reason, like Arthur was simply a player in some game. It was a feeling he had spent his childhood running away from, his youth rebelling against, and the rest of his life trying to forget. Arthur pulled his fingers away, managing to slide his hand out of the tightening grip.

_'It's better to just be detached from everything_.'

A thought that had almost cost him his own life, but in this situation, Arthur knew not what else to do. A conversation about the food was started. By who, neither could remember, but it continued on until the food was gone and the sky once again grey. Elizaveta came out looking strangely flustered as she removed the dishes and thanked them both for coming as Francis paid. On their way out however, escorted by Elizaveta, Arthur couldn’t help but notice she was moving them unusually fast and it wasn’t until Francis gave a yelp and Elizaveta swore in a very unladylike manner that the Englishman turned to see Gilbert and Matthew sitting together at a booth across the room, Gilbert leaning in a bit too close and Matthew with a bright blush painting his cheeks. Francis looked about ready to go kill something when Elizaveta kicked him in the shin and covered his mouth, dragging him into the back. Arthur stood gaping just long enough for the madwoman to grab him as well and push them into a wall.

“You will _not_ mess up their date!” Elizaveta said, her eyes boring holes into both of them, “Not in my restaurant anyway! I mean have you seen them out there? Your hand holding was cute and all, but at this rate Gilbert’s probably going to kiss him!” Elizaveta looked extremely excited.

“But... but that’s Mathieu!” Francis cried, looking stricken, “ _Mon petit fils!_ I cannot let Gilbert have him! He is far too rough for _mon petit_!”

'Oh hush!" She said dismissively. "Don't you two have somewhere else to be?"

"Not really," Arthur piped up. "Except..."

Elizaveta raised an amused eyebrow when Arthur looked panic stricken. "Peter!" He squeaked. Elizaveta watched Arthur rush out immediately with Francis chasing after. She turned around, eyes glancing back at Gilbert and Matthew just in time to see Gilbert place a sweet chaste kiss on the other's lips. She squealed happily, moving behind a strategically placed plant to watch the two blushing males.

“ARTHUR!” Francis shouted, catching up to the other man and grabbing him from behind, pulling him back against his chest. Luckily most people seemed to have gone inside as a rumble of thunder was heard, though no rain had fallen just yet. No one was really around to see the scene Arthur was making, kicking and screaming as he tried to get away from Francis to find his brother.

“Calm down!” Francis tried to hold down Arthur’s thrashing limbs. “Peter is likely fine. Matthew is too responsible to have simply left him alone, he’s probably with Alfred.”

"I'm not worried about that!" Arthur snapped. "I just realized that I left without telling him ANYTHING! What kind of brother am I? Peter and Alfred are going to hate me!"

"He'll be fine!"

Arthur struggled, managing to almost get free. After a slight scuffle, Arthur relented. "Alright, if you won't let me go, what do you propose we do then?" He growled.

Francis shook his head and continued to hold Arthur as he appeared to mull that over. “Well... we could go back to the restaurant...” he said Arthur’s look and scowled, “Well I doubt you trust Gilbert with Matthew any more than I do! All I want to do is go in, tell him the situation and make him to go to the inn immediately to tell Peter and Alfred. No harm done and we can continue our time together,” Francis let Arthur go partially, but entwined a hand around the Englishman’s wrist and held that tightly.

Arthur sighed, taking a couple breaths to curb his rising irritation. "Alright, we'll do it your way." He pulled away, sighing when the arm only squeezed him closer. "For god's sake! Have a little faith in me!" He snapped. "I realize you're trying to be romantic still, but you hold me like I'm going to run away! I'm not going anywhere Francis, I'm right here."

Francis said nothing, slipping his arm away to clutch Arthur's hand instead. He'd struck a nerve, Arthur realized with irritated amusement. They said nothing to each other as they walked back to the restaurant. Matthew and Gilbert were understandably surprised to see Francis grinning down at them like a madman. Elizaveta had tried to keep them out but it seemed that Francis’ concern for his pseudo-son overrode Elizaveta’s hobby on this day and the Frenchman was able to reach their table.

“ _Bonjour_ Mathieu, Gilbert, what a coincidence to see you here together!” Francis said in a sickly sweet voice, “Any particular reason for this?”

Gilbert groaned, “Come on Francis, you know I didn’t-“

“You shut up, I was directing my question at _mon petit chou_ ,” Francis held a hand over Gilbert’s mouth as his eyes bored into Matthew, who squeaked.

“Um we were... we were...” Matthew swallowed, “We were looking for you! Y-you and Arthur were gone this morning and no one knew where you went, and Peter wanted to go look for you and was going to leave with me but then Gilbert said he wanted to help and told Peter it was too dangerous to go out and that it was going to thunderstorm later,” Matthew swallowed again, “Peter protested but I kind of agreed because he doesn’t listen to me quite all the time and I didn’t want him to wander off on me... anyway so we left him with Alfred and promised we’d be right back when we found you both!”

“And now you are eating lunch! I am glad your search came to such a pleasant end, _non_?” Francis said, his eyes a little more fierce than usual.

“Er... y-yes, o-of course,” Matthew gulped and looked at Gilbert who rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, where were you anyway?” Gilbert asked, glancing over the Frenchman’s shoulder at Arthur.

Francis smirked. “I am on a date with my slave, because I have the right to be. You however have no right to date Mathieu. I would keep that in mind.”

Gilbert threw down his cutlery and glared at Francis, ignoring Matthew’s protest. “You can’t baby him forever, Francis! He’s eighteen! He can make his own choices, you can’t keep him forever!”

“P-please, don’t fight here,” Matthew mumbled, eyes watering.

Francis looked stricken at Gilbert’s words but recovered, or so it seemed, “You are upsetting Mathieu! Escort him back to the inn immediately and when I later ask Matthew if you have done anything to sully his purity I had better not see a lie in his eyes when he tells me ‘no’. Do you understand?”

Gilbert scoffed and turned to Arthur, “What do you think, Artie? Shouldn’t Mattie be able to go out with me if he wants to?”

"You say he's 18," Arthur said, ignoring Francis's murderous glare. "I don't see that. He's old enough in age, yes, but I don’t think he's mature enough. I love this boy as my own, and from what I know of you in such a little time, I fear you'll hurt him. Maybe you will, maybe you won't. If Matthew feels that he can handle himself, if he can handle you, I may not approve. I may not think you're perfect, but he's going to leave one day, and even if it breaks my heart, I'll have to let him go." Arthur took a breath, realizing he was no longer speaking about Matthew or to Gilbert, "My opinion is that if Matthew thinks he can handle whatever outcome there is waiting at the end of dating you, then yes. Matthew should." He flicked a glance at Francis before adding sarcastically, "But of course, my word means nothing. Not to Francis anyway."

Francis pursed his lips and gave Arthur a hard look that lasted several seconds before switching his gaze to Matthew. “Well, Mathieu, do you think you can _handle_ whatever outcome there is to dating Gilbert?”

Matthew opened his mouth but then closed it again, not seeming to know how to answer. Everyone’s eyes were on him and he sank down in his feet. After an age, he finally seemed to pull up enough courage to speak. “I um... I think that... yes. Yes I do think I can.” He gave Gilbert a small smile that was returned with a full force grin.

Francis’ eyes narrowed and he turned away. Not looking at anyone, he grunted, “Fine. Be with him then.”

“KESESESE! I’ll take good care of him Franny!” Gilbert laughed.

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Francis yelled, the first time Arthur had heard him raise his voice like that. The other restaurant patrons were all staring now and Francis worked to calm himself. He spoke in a much lower voice now, looking Gilbert dead in the eyes. “Gilbert, you have been my dear friend for a very long time, but I would never trust you with Mathieu. As of now, you are to treat me with the respect you ought to give the father of your lover,” Francis bit his lip, “And you are to... you are treat Mathieu with respect as well, it does not matter how young he was when you met, you must treat him as an equal and... and make him happy! Because if you make him cry, I will kill you. And you had better believe that.”

Gilbert gave Francis an amused smile. “Sir, yes sir, I will make Matthew _very_ happy. And I believe you’ll kill me, of course.”

Francis closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Fine just... just go back to the inn, that’s an order as captain.”

“Yes sir,” Matthew nodded, looking much better than he had earlier. “And um, thank you, Arthur. I... I see you as a mo- uh... as a parental figure as well so... thank you.”

Francis put an arm around Arthur’s shoulders at that point and squeezed the Brit into his side. “We will still be having a conversation in private later Mathieu. I will see you then. We will be leaving now,” Francis said and gave Gilbert another hard look before steering Arthur forcefully toward the door.

Arthur sent them a look over his shoulder, a look that seemed to say, _'Good luck_.' He let Francis steer him out, the look on the other's face telling him it was not so much of a good idea to argue. After what Arthur realized was ten minutes of forceful aimless wanderings, he spoke up.

"Where the bloody hell are we going, frog?" Arthur snapped, trying to shake loose the grip around his numb shoulders. The arm only tightened in response.

Francis sighed in irritation. “I just... need to walk,” taking a breath; the Frenchman pulled Arthur to the side of the street and leaned against the wall, at last loosening his grip a little, but only a little. He stared up at the sky. “ _Mon Mathieu_... I never wanted to see him grown up, but you’re right, he is.” Francis laughed a bit and then groaned, rubbing his face with a free hand. “I just don’t understand why of all men in the world he had to choose... _him_! I always thought that he would find someone in port one day, a nice man who ran a small business, or a kind, gentle woman who would look as adorable as he does, and they could settle down, if a woman raise a family... what kind of life can he have with Gilbert? Apart from him being rash and crude most of the time, he makes enemies very easily, and that could put Mathieu in danger. How else should I act, knowing something like that?”

"That's got to be resting upon Matthew's mind as well," Arthur sighed. "I'm sure Matthew knew or at least had an idea of what kind of lifestyle he would have with Gilbert. You, as I said, have no choice but to accept. I highly doubt Gilbert would let any harm come to Matthew. And if the bastard fails, I know Matthew would run straight to you or Alfred. Another thing to put into play, Alfred. The boy won't allow any harm to befall upon his brother. It's scary trusting another with your precious child, it has to be. I know the day Peter leaves me..." Arthur trailed off, pain filling his green eyes. "There's no one to protect my Peter if the boy leaves. I have to let the world take him. Matthew at least had those he can run back to; he'll have others at an arm length away. Peter will not."

Francis looked down at Arthur with a saddened expression and reached up to push some hair out of the man’s eyes. “I suppose we will both be suffering from... what do the women call it? ‘Empty Nest Syndrome’?” The Frenchman chuckled slightly, leaning over to kiss Arthur’s temple. “Let’s go down to the beach, _cheri_.”

Arthur sighed, shaking the sadness away. With a small smile, Arthur unhooked Francis's arm from around his shoulders and held his hand. The two walked down the town, heading toward the beachfront. The two stopped by port, making sure the ship was safe, before heading down the shoreline.

By that time, the sun was starting its descent, taking on a brilliant orange that scraped the sapphire sea, the grey from earlier having cleared for what appeared to be the last time. Arthur let go of Francis's hand to run down to the water, managing to kick his boots off somewhere in the process and tossed his thicker jacket off. He splashed into the water, laughing lightly and stopping when the waves rolled knee high. Salty wind blew, not cool enough for night breeze, but not warm day breeze either, and made their hair dance in the wind. "Ah, I don't think I ever will get enough of it," Arthur sighed contently, deeply inhaling the ocean scent. "It's so beautiful."

Francis shook his head, thankful that Arthur was not wearing his new clothes as the Englishman’s leggings became absolutely soaked from the knees down. Kicking off his own shoes and jacket, Francis joined Arthur in the water, snaking his arms around his waist and watching the sunset over his shoulder. “ _Oui_ , very beautiful,” he murmured, not certain of what he was speaking, the sunset, the ocean, Arthur, the moment, or perhaps a combination of all these things. They remained there like that for a time until the breeze began to chill. Francis sighed, “We ought to go in, _lapin_ , so we do not get sick.” Arthur nodded silently and followed the Frenchman back to shore to put on their clothes. Just as they managed this however, a loud crack of thunder boomed across the sky making them both jump. Then the rain started to come in a downpour. Francis groaned, grabbed Arthur’s hand and pulled him along until they reached town again. Most places looked closed, so Francis tugged Arthur under an awning to wait and see if the rain would let up even a little.

“Ah, bad luck,” Francis sighed, leaning against the building and trying to shake some water out of his hair. Arthur simply shook his head quickly, water slipping off his short hair and spraying everywhere. He ran a hand through his damp short locks, finding that the water had glued his hair together to form an even spikier hairstyle than before. Arthur ignored Francis's whines and peered up at the sky.

"Doesn't look like it'll let up anytime soon," he sighed, pulling his jacket closer. "Looks like we'll be stuck here for awhile, frog."

Francis sighed as well as he wasted no time in grabbing Arthur and pulling him to himself, to share warmth presumably. “You know, I used to love the rain as a child,” Francis said quietly, “My mother would say that God was in the rain, and I would see it make the vines grow grapes in the summer, and wash away snow in the spring but now it just-“ Francis’ breath hitched slightly.

"Just what?" Arthur asked, guessing that the Frenchman really wouldn't reply. When he didn't, Arthur sighed.  "I still love the rain," Arthur mused. "Think that's why I never left England, or at least one reason why. My brother William said that raindrops where simply the tears from the fairies that lived in the clouds, trying to wash away all the sorrow from the world with their own sadness. It always made me think there was some hope in this world that could be poured into the earth by the rain. As though everything was new and kind after a rainstorm cleansed the land."

Francis snorted, the sound seeming sarcastic somehow. “Well, perhaps it is meant to give hope, but men have a way of taking that hope away. The rain is...” Francis leaned back harder on the building, “The rain holds bad memories for me... I wish it could just cleanse me and take the memories away but maybe that will never happen.” Arthur looked up at Francis, a sad look in his eyes. He buried his face into Francis's chest, feeling the heartbeat front the other.

"Will you tell me?" Arthur whispered, his voice low and muffled, but loud enough to be heard.

Francis winced, though Arthur couldn’t see that. He did feel him tense up however. “I...” he trailed off for a moment, seeming to think. After what seemed to Arthur to be a very long time spent listening only to the pounding rain on the awning roof and the pounding of the Frenchman’s heart, Francis finally spoke, or rather, whispered only just loud enough to hear. “There was a girl...” his breathing hitched as it had before, but this time he managed to press on, though with difficulty. “The most... the most beautiful... most charming girl... named Jeanne.” Francis’ arms tightened around the Briton, “Her hair was soft, her skin was pale, her eyes were bright... and her personality was like a spitfire,” Francis chuckled, though it sounded very wet, “She would not respond to any of my charms at first when she walked into the restaurant that day with her friend. She called me ridiculous, but I could see her smile to her friend as I left them and later when I gave her a note asking her to meet with me later she did come. We were so... so happy together... I would picture our wedding day, the children we would have... she had agreed to marry me only a week before...” Francis stopped, and coughed. “I-I don’t know why I’m telling you... fine...” he took a deep breath and continued, but his voice was thick.

“It was raining that day, but not quite at the time... it had been overcast much of the day. She had asked me to go out with her to the garden but I had to refuse as I had to work at the restaurant as usual. Angeline was getting old enough to serve so we would take different shifts, but she had wanted to go out with her own friends that day. Jeanne had smiled and said that she would stay at the restaurant too, then, and keep me company if things were slow. Elizaveta had no problem with this, as she also liked Jeanne well enough. Angeline loved her... in any case, I remember that not long after I started my shift the sounds of rain could be heard pounding on the roof. That meant that business might pick up for a while as people tried to escape the rain, but if it kept up for more than a few hours we would get very few people the rest of the day. I had no problem with this, until I noticed that one man who came in from the rain on his own was holding a gun. He grabbed a young woman at the table as a hostage... not Jeanne, but another woman, and demanded that Elizaveta bring him money. He must’ve been crazy, trying to rob somewhere in a pirate town, as immediately three other guns from patrons were trained on him. I think he panicked when I told him to put the gun down, because within a moment the gun was on me, Jeanne standing beside... then in front... and then he...” Francis trailed off again, and Arthur could feel him shaking.

“The man was of course gunned down the moment his own shot was fired but it was too late, it had hit her in the chest. She could still speak, though, and I had precious time to tell her how much I loved her... and I asked her why... why she would do something so ridiculous... she called me an idiot,” Francis smiled a watery smile, “She said she did it for my sake, and that I shouldn’t stop moving forward because of something small like this,” his smile fell, “And after... after the funeral... Gilbert and Antonio tried to convince me that I could move on and I tried to agree but it seemed everywhere I went in this town reminded me of her, so I spoke to Gilbert and Antonio. I’m not sure whether they were serious when they said they were getting bored of this town anyway, or if they were only trying to help me, but we on a whim joined a pirate crew and raised our way through the ranks and gained enough wealth to fund our own small fleet. I had left Angeline with Elizaveta, though I had offered to take her with me if she desired it. She did not,” Francis sighed, “Because she stayed I had to return here, I could not leave forever as I wished, but I found that the frequent visits that showed how much the town changed over time somehow soothed me, and her ghost did not haunt this town. I could even go to Elizaveta’s restaurant again! Although, that was helped because of  a fire they had that made them have to remodel most of it. It’s not recognisable as the place I used to work, where she... where...” Francis fell silent, then, and his arms loosened though they stayed around Arthur.

Arthur held the other tightly, a feeling of deep overwhelming grief settling into his heart. It pained him somehow to see Francis in so much pain. Arthur had no word of comfort for Francis, no way of being able to match this kind of pain to his own. Demons had chased Arthur at a physical level, while they chased Francis as an emotional one. Again lost for words and unable to give any kind of comfort to the other, Arthur simply held him. He wiped away the tears what where streaming down Francis's face. Such a pain he saw etched on the other's face, it made Arthur's own eyes become misty. His lips moved of their own accord, words coming out that he had no control over.

"Is that why you are the way you are Francis?" Arthur asked quietly. "Sleeping with so many women, flirting relentlessly with anything on two legs? That woman, Jeanne? I think she would be upset that you’re hiding what you feel by doing such a thing. I...I don't know what it's like to love, I've only seen it once before it too was taken away by another, but what you're doing isn't going to bring you happiness Francis. I may be wrong, but to me, it looks like you're craving the same thing you had with her. So you find it in single nights filled with fake promises and lying words. A fleeting moment to live outside of reality, a fast fading moment of a painless world. Aren't you tired of that Francis? Tired of waking up to nothing, tired of realizing how low you've sunk? If you're not, others are. They want for you the same thing that you want for yourself, but you've sent your sights on a fast remedy. I may be wrong, there's a huge chance that I am, but i have this feeling that I'm right this time." Arthur stepped away from Francis, feeling the other's arms fall away from him. He took a step out into the rain, and looked up to look at Francis, his emerald eyes shining with tears.

"I don't know if your heart can be healed, maybe you don't want it to be, but Francis, it hurts everyone to see you try to hide your broken heart. It hurts Gilbert and Antonio, it hurts Matthew, it hurts me, and I'm sure it hurts Jeanne. But somehow, I know it hurts you more than anyone else. We want you to be truly happy, but Francis, don't keep shutting us out. The rain may be falling in the city, just as it's falling in your heart, but the rain has to stop someday. It can't go on forever. I'm not telling you to forget her, god knows you never will. But let your heart heal and love another as you loved her."

Francis looked at Arthur with wet, dull eyes. “Love another, as I loved her? Well I could... I could but...” he coughed again, perhaps getting sick from the rain and cold, “If I lost another as I lost her... I would fall apart, after such a thing. I would never move on, after that.” Arthur closed his eyes, still standing in the rain and trying to think of something else to say. To his surprise he felt a hand beneath his chin tilting up his face and his eyes opened as he felt lips on his. “Even so, even if that’s true,” Francis’ voice was hard to hear through the rain, “It may be too late for me.”

"And why is that?" Arthur asked, his lips moving against Francis's.

Arthur could feel Francis’ lips twitch against his own. “Because I’m afraid I have already fallen for someone else, _lapin_.” Francis’ lips moved to Arthur’s ear as his arms wrapped around the smaller man.

“Arthur,” he whispered into the Briton’s ear, his tone of voice both sweet and intoxicating. Arthur swallowed, heartbeat racing as his brain processed the words.

"Yes?" Arthur whimpered, his hands clinging to Francis's shoulders. Francis pulled away to stare into Arthur's eyes. The shared look was all that needed to be said between the two.

Clinging tightly to each other, they locked in a feverish kiss, jolts of electricity running through their veins. They neither cared nor paid any heed to the rain that had lifted to a light drizzle. They broke apart when oxygen had long since left their bodies, leaving them both gasping and panting for air. Arthur lowered his head to Francis's chest and buried his face into the wet fabric. The pure scent of Francis, a scent of sea salt, earth, and lilies, filled his nostrils. "Francis."


	10. Reception

**Chapter 10: Reception**

The two had stayed that way for a time before Francis pointed out that since they were soaked through by now anyway; walking back to the inn would hardly make things worse. Hand in hand they made their way through the puddles, occasionally sliding on slippery cobblestones. Eventually they managed to stumble through the inn doors and were immediately assaulted by Peter and Alfred, Matthew standing not far behind; demanding to know what took them so long to get home. Arthur held onto Peter and made numerous promises never to leave without telling him ever again while Alfred wailed on about how he was going to go out looking for them but Matthew wouldn’t let him because he’d get into trouble again.

“And you would have,” Francis said simply in response to Alfred’s wailings. He gently put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I will be taking Arthur upstairs to have a bath and put on some dry clothes, you do not want him getting sick after all.”

"Arthur!" Peter whined, holding on tighter to his brother.

"You’re getting wet Peter," Arthur chuckled, unlatching to boy from his clothes. "I'll be right back, I promise. I'll even tuck you in tonight, does that sound good?"

“Promise?" Peter asked childishly, holding out his pinky. Arthur smiled and hooked his own pinky around Peter's.

"Promise," Arthur assured the boy. Peter, although reluctant, allowed Arthur to stand and walk away. Peter raised an eyebrow, staring intently when he saw Francis take Arthur's hand.

"You thinking what I'm thinking, Petey?" Alfred asked, his eyes also locked on the two.

"Time to protect Daddy?" Peter asked. Alfred nodded.

"Do you want to bathe first?" Arthur asked when they reached their room. He slipped off his soaking wet jacket and tossed it into the hamper in the corner.

Francis chuckled as he slipped off his own jacket and shirt, snatching up Arthur into his arms once again. “Silly, did I not say last night that I wanted us to bathe together?” Arthur stared up at him in wide eyes. With a blushing face, he broke away, sputtering out in shock.

"Just because you said that you l-l-l-love me doesn't mean I'm going to just obey like a little bitch!" Arthur squeaked, his face entirely red. "I'm not going to bathe with you, I'll bathe myself thank you very much, you frog!"

Francis raised an eyebrow and shook his head, grabbing Arthur and spinning him so he was holding him from behind. “I do not expect you to obey me because I love you, I expect you to obey me because I am your captain and you are my captive. Now come along, it won’t be so bad, I don’t want you to catch a cold,” the Frenchman laughed at Arthur’s struggles and pulled him deftly backward into the bathroom, shutting the door with his foot and hurrying to block it with his body. “Now undress yourself, _lapin_ , we will have to wait for the tub to fill up anyway and we can have a little fun before that...”

"I will not," Arthur whined, thankful he was still fully clothed. "Bath time should be my time you wanker, now let go!"

Francis grinned lecherously, “ _Non_ , I’m afraid you do not have time to yourself unless I allow it, and for now, I don’t,” Francis said simply, “Consider this the epilogue of our date.” He then lunged himself at Arthur, pushing him against the sink and pulling the man’s shirt up over his head with difficulty. “Now Arthur, you’re just being unreasonable,” he said as he kept a firm hold on Arthur, leaning over the tub in the small room to plug it and start running some water from the hot water tap. “This would be a lot more romantic if you’d only relax,” he sighed as he tested the water temperature from his awkward position while holding Arthur as immobile as possible.

Arthur whined, the feeling of cold fingers on his semi-warm back. With a sigh he gave in and shyly began to undress. "Stop looking!" Arthur half commanded, half pleaded as he began to unbuckle his pants.

Francis snorted, but actually did as Arthur had asked, turning around to remove his own trousers. He only turned back when both were fully nude and gave the man’s body a hungry once-over before testing the temperature of the water again, adding some cold water now to compensate. He then reached over and grabbed a bottle of bath oil, uncorking it to pour it with liberty into the water, the scent of roses again encircling them like it had in the garden earlier.  Once the bath tub was full to the Frenchman’s liking, he turned off the taps and held a hand out to Arthur, with the intent of helping him into the tub.

"I can get in myself," Arthur mumbled. He slipped in, pulling his legs up to cover himself, resting his chin on his knees as he watched Francis slip in as well. "It smells like flowers," Arthur commented, his face red. "I...I like it."

“I thought you might,” Francis said cheerfully as he adjusted himself so he could pull Arthur back against him, between his legs. “There is no need to cover yourself; it is not as though I haven’t seen all of you already many times.” This said, the Frenchman grabbed a washcloth from the side of the tub and some soap which he covered the wet cloth with before sliding it soothingly across Arthur’s chest. “Not so bad at all, _oui_?”

"It does feel weird," Arthur denied, wiggling in Francis's grasp, but stretching out. "It's all wet." He leaned back, playing with the water as Francis continued to wash him. Luckily they had both had their hair cleaned recently so they didn’t have to worry much about that, even though Francis did try to work a bit of soap into it. Things progressed rather nicely until Francis’ cloth worked under the water and began making a rather thorough job of washing Arthur’s genitals. In fact the scrubbing had turned into something much more resembling strokes and Arthur began to suspect the Frenchman had quite lost sight of the task at hand.

Panting and red faced, Arthur wiggled again in the other's arms. Feeling something rather hard poke against his bare ass and Francis's gasps confirmed his suspicions. Arthur turned in Francis's grasp, now straddling him. "You’re a wanker," he huffed before crashing his lips against the other's. The hand on his semi-hard cock moved up to grab his hip.

Francis’ breath quickened as the hand of Arthur’s hip reached further around to squeeze the Briton’s arse, running his finger around the puckered hold hidden there. He drew back from the kiss to catch breath, “Of course if we do this here, we will get the water dirty,” he mused and drew his hand away a bit. “Perhaps we ought to wait until we’re out of the bath, _cheri_ , though I know you’re eager for me.”

"Just thought you'd like to know," Arthur mumbled, blushing. He got out of the bath, wrapping a towel around his waist as Francis unplugged the tub. Arthur opened the door and took one step before being scooped into the air. He squeaked and clung to the laughing Francis. Arthur made am 'oof' sound as he was roughly dropped onto the bed. Francis crawled over the stunned Englishman and began to nibble on the other's neck. Arthur shuddered and clung to Francis.

“We’re dripping on the bed sheets,” Francis observed, but his expression showed no concern over this as his hands worked their way down Arthur’s torso and onto his member which had not yet gone completely soft against and seemed to jump into the Frenchman’s hand. He squeezed and stroked it, playing it like a fine instrument to a chorus of loud moans from the Briton. “You’re too fun to play with, _lapin_ ,” Francis murmured, his eyes seeming to dance as they watched Arthur’s red face.

"S-Shut up," Arthur whined, humming in appreciation when Francis stroked slowly.

“Now, open up,” Francis gently separated Arthur’s legs and using the rose scented bath oil he had taken from the bathroom he coated a finger and slid it into the hole that accepted it readily, by now much more used to this kind of treatment. Francis’ cock twitched as it seemed to suck him inside. “You do realize that this will be different, for me at least, than our previous sessions, _oui_?”

"It's not just different for you Francis," Arthur chided softly. He reached up and kissed the other lovingly. Arthur let out a muffled moan as his sweet spot was brushed against.

"Again Francis," he panted, breaking the kiss and bucking against the finger in his ass. Francis complied, adding two more fingers. Arthur let out breathy moans as his spot was teased, slow nudges and pokes making Arthur frustrated.

Francis finally decided that Arthur had received enough sweet torment for the moment and withdrew his fingers, himself fully hard and ready, moving to Arthur’s gaping entrance though not before coating himself liberally with the oil. “I hope you enjoy this, _mon lapin_... _mon amour_ ,” Francis carefully began to sheath himself inside, moaning in bliss as Arthur’s tight heat engulfed him.

Arthur gasped and held onto Francis. It was different from all the other times the two had had sex. It was warm, filling in a way that the other times had not been. It seemed to Arthur as though he were truly exposed to the other, bare and waiting to be loved. That was another thing Arthur felt; love. It swarmed over the two, thickening the air around them and raking their bodies.

Arthur looked up into Francis's eyes, and could tell the other felt the same. No words where needed to be said as Francis started a slow and soft rhythm. Arthur moaned softly and buried his face in his lover's neck, biting softly. It was, to the Englishman, pure heaven.

After a while of feeling every inch of the Frenchman move inside him, Francis began to pick up the pace, reaching down to wrap a hand around Arthur’s erection and stroke it in time with his thrusts. The two neared completion and in one moment of nirvana they climaxed at the same instant, Francis’ seed filling Arthur and Arthur’s seed exploding between the two, coating their stomachs.

Francis sighed in pure contentment and withdrew himself, falling beside Arthur and drawing the man close to him. “We should have done this before the bath. We’ll have to wet a cloth and clean up later... _Je t’aime, lapin_.” Francis curled his arms tightly around Arthur and laid a sweet kiss on his forehead. Both men’s bodies were heavy with exhaustion after the long day.

\-- --

Morning came around and Arthur found himself waking up in someone's arms. He looked up to the still sleeping face of Francis and smiled. Memories from the day before rolled through his head, making his smile widen. Feeling giddy and happy, Arthur reached up and kissed Francis's cheek. He closing his eyes and simply rested in the other's arms.

" _Je t'aime_ Francis," he whispered, fully convinced the other was still sleeping. He snuggled closer to Francis.

“ _Je t’aime aussi_ ,” came a soft murmur into Arthur’s hair. The Briton looked up in shock to see Francis looking down at him with half-lidded eyes. “Oh, I don’t think I mentioned, we’re leaving port tomorrow morning, we’re going to head south, make a stop in Spain and then around to Portugal, ever been there, _lapin?_ ” Francis asked, brushing some hair out of Arthur’s eyes.

"To Spain, once," Arthur replied sheepishly, trying to ignore that fact that his face was red and that he had told the other that he loved him in his native language. "To Portugal, no. Though I've heard from my other fellows who used to work with me that is was a magnificent place."

“Magnificent, beautiful, it reminds me of a jewel to see it...” Francis smiled, “Though Miguel would probably be a better one to ask about it as he grew up there and he worships it as the most perfect country in the world. Though do we not all think so of our homeland? Personally, I think it isn’t so much different from Spain, though less grand. However in some ways one might consider it more beautiful for its subtlety.” Arthur hummed, his thoughts sneaking back to his own country. Knocking on the door startled the two, and Francis called for them to enter only after having wrapped the covers protectively around the exposed Briton and himself. Alfred peered in, Peter between his legs and Matthew behind them.

"Yo, it's like, really fucking late," Alfred hummed, taking in the two in bed. Ignoring Matthew's insistence of, "It's not really that late Al," Alfred opened the door wider and leaned against the threshold, waiting expectantly for an answer.

“Late?” Francis blinked at the three in the doorway. “Ah, _je très désole._ We will be up shortly. I assume you were waiting for us before going to breakfast?”

"Yup," Peter piped up from between Alfred's legs. "We were waiting for you guys but you didn't show up."  Arthur sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He held back a wince as a shot of pain ran up his spine from his ass.

"We'll be down soon, boys," Arthur sighed. "Could you get out so we can change?" Alfred nodded and closed the door, but the sounds of footsteps walking away did not occur. They were waiting. At this, Arthur groaned and lay back down. "Damn, all I want to do is sleep."

Francis snorted and reached down to pinch Arthur’s ass, making him yelp and glare at the Frenchman who proceeded to tweak his nose as well. “Yours is the difficulty of every parent. Enjoy it while you can, _non_?” With that, Francis threw the covers off of both of them and went to pull out some clothes to wear, tossing some of the clothes Arthur had from before, which were obviously taken from his cabin on his original ship. Once they were dressed Francis stole a quick kiss before opening the door, the three boys getting a full view of Arthur’s flushed face.

"Are you getting sick, brother?" Peter asked worriedly, looking up at his brother's red face.

"No, I'm fine," Arthur muttered, not catching Alfred's knowing glare. Although they broke apart before opening the door, Alfred could tell they had shared a kiss. If anything, Francis's lecherous grin had betrayed that simple fact. Quickly taking on a wide grin, Alfred latched onto Arthur's arm, Peter latching  
onto the other.

"You never spend time with us Artie!" Alfred wailed. "And yesterday we were afraid Francis tossed your dead body into the ocean!"

"Bloody hell, you had sugar didn't you?" Arthur sighed. "Sugar makes you paranoid." Alfred shrugged and Peter giggled.

"But I do want bonding moments!" Peter complained.

“Hmm, well that should not be a problem,” Francis said, seeming content to walk behind the group as they headed to breakfast, Matthew casting small concerned glances over his shoulder at him. “This is our last day in port for a while, so if Arthur wants to spend it as a group, that’s fine. Though Alfred is still confined to the inn, which is a shame.” Francis shrugged, “Perhaps you will have better luck when we stop for a day in Spain.”

"Aw Goddamn it!" Alfred moaned. "It's not fucking fair! I'm part of this family!"

"I'm sorry Alfred, but I didn't tell you to go and fight," Arthur reminded. Peter looked back up at Francis, eyes wide and curious.

"So Mattie and I can borrow him for the day?" Peter asked.

"Totally sucks to be me," Alfred complained. "No fair."

"Oh quit your yapping Alfred," Arthur sighed, shaking his head.

Francis’ eyes drifted to Matthew for a moment then came to rest on Arthur as he replied carefully, “Well, given that I need to oversee some purchase of supplies today, I believe I can trust you with this.”

Matthew’s eyebrows rose and he gave a quick glance between Arthur and Francis, some sort of comprehension dawning on him and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “ _Merci_ _Papa_!” the Canadian said quickly, hurrying to give his guardian a quick hug which was graciously returned.

“Not a problem, _mon chou_ , I of course trust you to be back at the inn by sunset. Understood?”

“ _Oui, capitaine,”_ Matthew nodded. Francis’ eyes turned back to Arthur, seeming to expect an answer of reassurance from him as well.

"Where else would I go Francis?" Arthur replied, a teasing twinkle in his eyes. "I don’t share a bath with just anyone."

Francis returned the expression in kind and added a knowing smirk. “Alright, then shall we enjoy _petit dejeuner_ before we go our separate ways?”

“ _Oui Papa_ ,” Matthew said, looking rather content and even led the way down to the tavern, Francis still walking behind and Peter and Alfred holding on mercilessly to Arthur’s arms. Breakfast passed pleasantly enough, even though Francis was very aware of the small glares that Peter and Alfred kept sending him across the table. The small shared smiles with Arthur however were enough to help the Frenchman ignore this insubordination. As they were getting up from the table, a yawning Spaniard, Portuguese man and a Prussian wandered into the bar.

“So, ready to pick up some food and booze, Franny?” Gilbert asked with a grin, giving Matthew a subtle wink that was blushed to in response.

“We’re getting more than that,” Miguel said stiffly before glancing at Gilbert. “Where’s Ludwig?”

“He’s on his way, trying to detangle himself from a certain Italian man! Kesesesese!”

Antonio’s mouth fell open. “Not my Lovi!”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “No, his brother, idiot!”

Antonio’s mouth turned o-shaped, and Francis gave a laugh to all of them. “Very well, let’s go. We will see you at sunset, no later!” Francis shot the group a winning smile and sent Arthur a wink.

On their way out the door, Antonio seemed to remember something and turned, “Oh and Alfred! You’re still grounded, so, just because Miguel and I are gone and won’t know if you leave... still don’t leave! Okay, bye!” Giving a cheerful wave, the group disappeared onto the street.

"SUCKS TO BE ME!"

“Since when have you ever listened to anyone but yourself?" Arthur mused, giving Alfred a questioning gaze. Alfred made a face.

"Since Miguel taught me what Spanish Pretzels are?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, unsure if his son meant the actual German treat, pretzel, or meant some other sexual term. Seeing Arthur’s look, Alfred blushed. "It's a form of torture!" Alfred hissed. Arthur only rolled his eyes.

"Well," Arthur sighed and turned to the other two boys. "Where do you lads want to go?"

"Hey Artie, aren't ya gonna spend any time with ME?" Alfred sniffed, looking pitifully up at Arthur with puppy eyes. Arthur took one look and gave in.

"Alright, boy," Arthur sighed. "I KNOW you have a secret motive. Speak now."

"What's going on between you and that Frog?" Alfred asked seriously. "You've been spending an awful lot of your time with him. Something has to be going on."

"Yeah, you promised to come tuck me in, but you didn't!" Peter added, his glare becoming misty. Arthur stared at the two, emotionless. He didn't have to explain himself, did he? He probably should, it involved Matthew as well. Arthur bit his lip, deep in thought as the English boy and American waited expectantly.

Matthew took a breath and put a hand on Alfred’s shoulder hesitantly. “Um, maybe you shouldn’t force him, i-it’s possible that he hasn’t fully figured things out himself yet and you might make things stressful for him.”

"I do know what I want," Arthur sighed. "But I don't think you'll approve of my decision." Alfred and Peter looked attentive. Arthur sighed. "Francis and I...well, Francis and I are together," Arthur said nervously. The blank looks from his two sons made him sigh again. "Like, together-together." A look of disgust and surprise rose in Alfred's face, Peter still looked rather confused.

"YOU’RE FUCKING THAT BASTARD?"

"I ALREADY WAS BEFORE, ALFRED! WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE I DO?"

Alfred looked stunned, staring at the fierceness in his father figure's eyes. Alfred swirled to face his brother, blue eyes blazing. "I don't approve of him," Alfred spat. "Neither does Matthew, right Matt?"

Matthew squeaked at the sudden attention, but then quickly cleared his throat, “I, um, w-well Francis is my _Papa_ as much as Arthur is to you, Al, so I can’t say I don’t approve of him at all.” Matthew took a breath and looked at Arthur now.  “I love my _Papa_ and I feel as though Arthur could be very good for him, because he seems... lighter, lately. And I know that he’s still been out with some whores since we’ve gotten here but you didn’t see him before... he’s usually drunk from the time we hit port to the time we leave and he always has a girl in his lap that he’s touching inappropriately...” Matthew made a bit of a pained face. “I-it’s nice to see him, um, not doing that. I know that Francis can be difficult though, and... and he might do something stupid and hurt you, Arthur, he’s hurt people before because he has trouble committing and showing his true feelings but... but it might not be like that this time. I can’t guarantee it will be good but...” Matthew smiled here, “You’re a grown man and have to be able to make your own choices.”

“My own words shot back at me," Arthur chuckled. "Thank you, Matthew."

"I don't know what's going on," Peter said quietly. "I just want to go HOME, brother. I don't want to stay here, especially not with those looks Francis gives you!"

Arthur sighed and took Peter's hands in his own. "Peter I want this," Arthur said softly. "I want to do this, can't you just let me ha-"

"You’re being selfish!" Peter cried, cutting off his brother and ripping away his hands. "Why can't we just go now? I want to go!"

"Peter I don't want to!" Arthur insisted, his heart tearing. "Peter I've given up so much for you, I don't have anything but you!"

"You said that's all you need!" Peter wailed. "It isn't fair!"

"YOUR ENTIRE LIFE ISN'T FAIR!" Arthur cut off. He was at his limit. He took a calming breath. "Nothing is fair at all Peter," Arthur mumbled. "But I will do what I think is right."

"So being with a pirate is right?" Peter challenged. At this, Arthur had no words. He made a pained face before standing.

"I won't discuss this with you now, Peter," he said tightly. "Today, I want us to have fun. So if you want to come with Matthew and me, let's go." Peter searched his brother’s face before standing as well.

Matthew sighed and gave the moody Alfred a hug. “I-I’ll try to bring you back something, Francis gave me some money to spend in port, h-he’s really not bad,” Matthew gave Alfred a pleading look before turning to Arthur and hurrying to the Briton’s side opposite of Peter. He gave them both a smile. “Let’s go then, okay?”

"Sure," Arthur agreed, setting off. Peter immediately grabbed Arthur's hand so not to get lost in the crowded streets. He looked up to see his brother and Matthew talking. "I've only been to a few places around here," Arthur was saying. "Where else could we go?"

Peter tuned out Matthew's reply, his eyes wandering to the shops they were passing. They walked for some time, stopping at a few places Matthew had wanted to go. Coming out of the bakery they had just gone in, a bookstore caught Peter's eye. He pulled furiously on Arthur's arm, making the other stagger  
from the force.

"Arthur look!" Peter gasped happily. He pointed their attention to the store across, waving his hand excitedly. "Books! Can we go Artie? Can we, can we, can we?"

“Matthew?" Arthur asked, turning to the boy for approval. He himself ached to go in as well. He hadn't read a good book since his departure from England.

Matthew pushed his glasses up on his nose and smiled when he saw where Peter was pointing. “Of course we can, the man who owns it is very nice, and he really, really likes cats.”  Peter cheered and tried dragging Arthur toward the store. With a laugh, the elder allowed himself to be pulled into the store. Shelves and tables of books captivated the two Englishman. Peter picked one up then placed it back down with a scowl on his face.

"It's in French," Peter huffed. Arthur picked up a different book, the foreign language not really mattering.

“That’s... probably because this is... France...” a slow, steady voice was heard a lot closer to Peter than the boy could have expected and he jumped. “Don’t have... much English... not much call for it... but I have some... want me to show you?”

“Oh! Hello Heracles!” Matthew said happily, stroking a cat in his arms.

The large man with the Greek accent turned to Matthew and gave a surprised look. “Oh... Francis’ boy... hello...”

"Yes please!" Peter said brightly. "Fiction if possible, and adventure if better!"

Arthur, too engrossed in reading the book he had just picked up, yelped in surprise when a cat wrapped itself around his leg. Arthur set the book down and picked up the animal, blinking in confusion. "Um...cat?" Matthew's giggles made him look up in confusion.

“There’s lots in here, you were so absorbed by the books you didn’t notice,” Matthew gestured around and sure enough Arthur began to see at least a dozen cats in the store, curled in corners or on top of shelves, one of them was sleeping on the desk and if they weren’t asleep, they seemed to be looking at the visitors with only the mildest interest, soon turning back to washing themselves or whatever else it was cats did.

"Why the bloody hell are there so many cats?" Arthur gaped. "I know you said he liked cats, but this is bloody ridiculous!" Matthew merely laughed a bit more in response, putting the cat he had been holding down. Meanwhile, Heracles showed Peter a small shelf at the back of the shop, pulling out a few adventure stories to show him.

“This one... is Treasure Island... you might’ve read it already... it’s popular... so’s this one... Gulliver’s Travels...” the Greek man pulled out another book, “This one... ‘Travels of Sir John Mandeville’...” he shrugged, “A lot of people... thought it was fact when it came out but... definitely fiction... good story though... pretty realistic... monsters... some political undertone... don’t like how he’s nice to Turks though...” the Greek scowled a bit, but also handed it to Peter to examine. “Might’ve read that too, since it’s very popular... but maybe not, you look young...”

"Well, my brother reads me lots of books," Peter explained, flipping through a couple pages. "Haven't heard of this one before. Thanks Mister!" The boy headed back to his brother, holding the book up in Arthur's face.

"Peter I haven't any money," Arthur reminded, setting the cat back down. He took the book from Peter and scanned through it. Peter's eyes drifted downward in disappointment. The book Arthur had been reading from before caught his eye and he picked it up. French writing littered the pages, but familiar pictures brought a smile to his face.

"Is this a book of fairy tales in French?" Peter asked. Arthur hummed in response.

Matthew bit his lip and checked his small money pouch that was tied at his waist. Books weren’t the cheapest of wares. “I, um, w-well you know, since I could read whatever you get too, when you’re finished, I-I think I have enough for one book, so...” Matthew gave them both an encouraging smile as Heracles scratched behind the ear of the cat on the desk.

"It's okay Matthew," Arthur sighed dismissively, handing the book back to Peter. "We really don't need anything, besides I simply wanted to see.” Peter went to place the book in English back, the French fairy tales still in his hand. He looked down at it for a long time, curiosity etched into his eyes. He looked over at Arthur, who was whispering with Matthew. It seemed like the two were arguing over something for some reason. Peter walked over, slowing his steps as their voices reached his ears.

"He doesn't need anything Matthew, just please let it go."

"Arthur, it won't be debt, just take the money."

"No, he has to learn eventually that he can't get everything. He's known both the poor and the rich sides of life; the only problem is that he's lived on the rich side for too long."

"Arthur, it's only a book! Besides, I could tell you wanted one too!"

"That's beside the point, lad."

"Fine, but I'm still buying him that book."

"Matthew, listen-"

Peter cleared his throat, causing the two blondes to jump.

“Uh, Peter!” Matthew gave him a warm smile. “Did you put the book back already? It’s fine, really, I don’t mind paying for it, Francis gives me money whenever we go to port for my work on the ship, it’s not a big deal at all! I don’t need it for anything, and that book looked really interesting, maybe we could just... just read it together, you know?”

"If we read, I wanna read this," Peter said shyly, holding up the book of French fairy tales. "It...well to be honest I'd take fairy tales over anything any day, no matter the language."

Matthew’s eyes widened slightly at the choice, but then grinned. “Of course,” he said, taking the book gently and going to Heracles to pay. The book was placed in a brown paper bag which Matthew handed to Peter and the group left the shop. “Um, that didn’t leave me with much I’m afraid,” Matthew admitted, “I have just enough left to get us something to eat if we just buy some fruit or something, I don’t think we’d be covered at a restaurant.”

"Hmm, you suppose we should go back and keep Alfred company then?" Arthur asked, looking up at the sun. "It's only noon, but I think Alfred's had enough time to sulk." Peter giggled, holding the book tightly to his chest. Matthew said that it sounded like a good idea, so the group began to make their way back to the inn. Alfred was extremely happy to see the group, and their first stop was the tavern where they knew they could put lunch on Francis` tab. Once food was eaten, they trooped upstairs to the room the three boys shared and sat on the bed, talking about nothing in particular, Peter still holding the book.

“Um, you know Peter,” Matthew said carefully, “If you want, maybe I could teach you to... to read some French, so that you could read some of those stories yourself. It’s really useful to learn another language, and it’s easier when you’re young.”

Peter looked up at Matthew, innocent curiosity in his eyes. "I've been thinking about that recently," Peter agreed, tracing his fingers over the cover. "Back in England, I never needed to know anything other than English, and I was always hoping Arthur would teach me Gaelic."

"Gaelic is foul," Arthur commented, green eyes looking at Peter lazily. "I learned because Scott and William made me. I took French later on."

"Hm. Arthur always told me that I'd need French one day, but I didn't believe him," Peter laughed. "But know, I think I want to learn."

"Artie, I'mma count all the languages you know!" Alfred challenged, earning him a raised eyebrow. "Lemmie see. English." Alfred put one finger up. "French." Another finger. "Gaelic." Another finger. "Welsh and Irish."

"I barely know the last two," Arthur argued as Alfred put the last two up.

"So brother knows five?" Peter asked, wide eyed. "Gee, I got catching up to do!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned to Matthew. "If you’re teaching him French, all I can say is good luck."

Matthew flushed and stammered a little. “Well, I only know English and French, and a bit of Italian but not a lot since Feliciano tried teaching me but he gets distracted. Um, Gilbert’s been teaching me some German too though.” He coughed. “Um, but I will do my best to teach Peter!”

After about an hour, Peter and Alfred were hungry again and left to get some more food to bring up to the room, leaving Arthur and Matthew alone for a moment as Arthur had complained that he’d been on his feet too much the last couple of days to think about moving more now. Once alone, Matthew glanced at Arthur shyly.

“Um, A-Arthur?” he asked hesitantly, “I-I know it’s not my place to ask but... but I’m curious, why did you fall in love with Francis? I-I mean you seemed to hate him at first and... well I’m curious, because I’ve never seen him quite like this around anyone, but I want to know your feelings. I can somewhat read the atmosphere, but I’m not good and understanding exactly people’s motivations or anything...” Arthur sighed, turning to the boy.

"I honestly don't know," Arthur sighed. "I did hate him at first, I truly did, believe me. Yet, that first time he took me was just stuck in my head the entire time. I've been taught, although in a violent way, that sex isn't something to be taken lightly. I was furious and I made so many plans with Peter to escape, but the more I stayed near Francis, the more I learned small things about him. He was lonely, that I could tell. He was hiding, running away from something that he mourned the past for. He was enticing, it drew my curiosity. I don't really know when it turned to love, but I couldn't leave his side. He had taken so much from me, but maybe because I always graciously gave my heart to people too easily. I convinced myself it would never last, and I tried to distance myself, but he came chasing after me." Arthur stared up at Matthew, love radiating in his sad emerald eyes. "I can't leave him Matthew," Arthur whispered, eyes closing. "I don't know when I fell, but I do know that I fell hard. As for why, well...why not? It's my first love, and yeah, it might not last, but I want to enjoy it. I want it to last."

Matthew nodded, “I understand that, at least. I-I feel rather the same about Gilbert. Well, n-not that I hated him at first but, when I was little he was the one that always scared me most of Francis’ friends because he was loud and really like um... k-killing...” Matthew looked a bit green but pressed on, “The thing was, I don’t know, when I got older I started noticing all the nice things he did, for his brother and for Francis and Antonio, and for me, sometimes, though I still wasn’t spending much time around him. Then one day he just... he told me he liked me, and I didn’t know what to do because I was only fourteen, but he said that he’d wait for me... and I... I tried avoiding him at first but after a while I couldn’t stay away from him. I-I kept spending more time with him in port and listening when he spoke and I... and yesterday he offered to help look for you but then took me to Elizaveta’s diner and told me he l-loved me and... and I said I did too... and he k-kissed...” Matthew’s face flushed bright red. “I-I’m not sure why I’m telling you this! Uh, but you both showed up not long after, but anyway, I do know what you mean, I want it to last too,” Matthew sighed, “Not just myself and Gilbert, I want you and Francis to last too, b-because um...” he looked at Arthur shyly, “I-I kind of see you as a moth- uuuuh parent!” Matthew amended and Arthur’s sudden scandalized sputtering at being called a mother was cut off by the door flinging back open to see Alfred and Peter happily carrying snacks with them.

"Hey! The Hero brought snacks!" Alfred laughed loudly. He dumped the food down and promptly began to stuff his face. Peter, after depositing his own hoard next to Alfred's, began to eat, a bit a bit slower.

"Eat slower Alfred," Arthur and Matthew chided. Alfred shrugged.

"Hey Artie," Alfred said through a mouthful of food. "They got that disgusting tea of yours."

Arthur brightened considerable. "Really?"

"Yeah, Francis is here too," Peter added, his own mouth full as well.

"Don't eat with your mouth full," Arthur scolded, but his smile showed his excitement. He shared a look with Matthew and engulfed the boy into a hug. "Ah, I love my sons. All three of them," Arthur cooed.

"HEY! I WANT IN ON THIS HUG!" Alfred and Peter attacked the two, joining the hug-fest. Then a stray poke in Alfred’s side led to a tickle fight, and when Francis opened the door Alfred was holding Peter down while Arthur assaulted his sides mercilessly, the boy whining for mercy as Arthur shouted ‘NEVER!’ with Matthew hanging over Alfred’s shoulders. The Frenchman’s eyebrow rose and was first noticed by Matthew who flushed but continued to smile as Francis walked up beside Arthur and placed a hand on his back abruptly ending the tickling assault.

“So I take it you four had fun while I was gone?”  Francis asked with a smirk as Arthur looked up at him in surprise.

"Of course," Arthur laughed, his shocked face quickly fading to a wide smile. Even Alfred laughed, poking Arthur.

"Weren't we assaulting little Peter?"

"No!" Peter laughed breathily, still trying to catch his breath.

"Oh! Yes!" Arthur smirked, continuing his tickle assault. Peter burst into laughter again, begging for mercy between giggles.

Francis’ eyebrow rose again, “Now that’s hardly fair, he doesn’t have a chance, I suppose I might have to even the odds!” With that the Frenchman leapt upon Arthur and began to tickle his sides, Matthew letting out a shriek at the sudden movement and Arthur was jerked away from his brother, now forced to try and escape Francis if he wanted to torment his brother with tickling again. This brought forth shrieks of laughter from the Englishman, surprising Alfred and the still stunned Peter. Without a second thought, Peter began helping Francis tickle Arthur, and Alfred pinned down the flailing limbs.

"AHAHA, S-STOP!" Arthur tried to gasp between the laughter coming out of his throat.

"Revenge!" Peter cheered, ticking his brother's neck, which brought forth louder joyful laughter. Matthew soon joined in as well, and as this went on the group did not notice the small crowd in front of the doorway. Gilbert, Ludwig, Feliciano, Lovino, Antonio and Miguel were all looking in at them with smirks, grins or slightly flushed faces.

“Damn, this is cute,” Gilbert giggled softly, leaning on the doorframe and waiting to be noticed.

“I’m hungry, but I don’t really want to stop them, it’s really cute!” Feliciano giggled next to Gilbert, covering his mouth. “Right Luddie?” Ludwig flushed more and coughed, loudly, attracting Francis’ attention and making him look up and, strangely, the Frenchman seemed rather embarrassed, quickly getting off the bed.

“Aw, Luddie!” Feliciano and Gilbert wailed.

“W-well we were going to go to dinner together so... w-well that’s not something we should just be...”

“No, Ludwig, I am sorry to keep you waiting,” Francis turned to Arthur, “I was coming up to bring you all to dinner, I just was... distracted...” he glanced back at the group by the door.

“Seems that way!” Antonio said in sunny way, “Let’s go!”

Gasping, Arthur shoved away from his captors, face red with embarrassment. "W-Wankers," he muttered, trying to muster up the best glare he could as he fixed his disheveled clothes. "The lot of you." Alfred only laughed in response, Matthew and Peter giggling. The American rolled off the bed and slapped Miguel on the back.

"Oh Miggy, ruining my revenge on Artie!" Alfred sighed dramatically. "And I was just going to get him to admit that he killed my goldfish, oh woe!"

"I did not!" Arthur snapped. "You tried to feed the blasted thing candy!" Alfred only chuckled. Matthew helped Peter straighten out his own clothes, then the boy skipped over and plopped his hat, which he wore constantly now, onto his head.

"So, to dinner then?" He asked curiously, looking at the people around and directing the question to no one in particular.

“ _Si_! Let’s go eat PASTA!” Feliciano cheered, leading the way as the group headed down to the tavern for their last dinner there for... well who knew exactly when they would be back. Francis walked rather close to Arthur on the way, their small group bringing up the rear and they were all very conscious of the looks that kept being cast over the shoulders of the other pirates.

“Is there a problem?” Francis finally asked edgily as Gilbert burst into snickers.

“Nothing, just can’t wait till I’m part of the family!” This made Matthew flush bright red and Francis to grind his teeth.

“You have not even asked me if it is alright to court Mathieu! You-“

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Gilbert said defensively, but still smirking. Francis huffed and looked away.

"Whoa, whoa!" Alfred sputtered, having been unaware of Gilbert's advances on Matthew. "Who's doing what now? This guy's trying to get into my little brother's pants? And no one told me?!"

"Because they knew you'd go into hysteria," Peter mumbled, rolling his eyes.

"This is my fucking BROTHER!" Alfred wailed, pulling Matthew into a bone crushing hug. "My little bro's all grown up now! Don't worry Mattie, the Hero will protect you from villains trying to get into your pants!" Arthur rolled his eyes, feeling sorry for Matthew.

“A-Al, y-you’re crushing me...” Matthew groaned, trying to wiggle out of his brother’s grip.

“What? Gilbert, you’re trying to get into Matthew’s pants?” Apparently this was news to Antonio as well, “Don’t you think that would put a strain on our friendship?”

“Mattie’s worth it,” Gilbert shrugged.

“Um, p-please let go, Al,” Matthew muttered, blushing furiously.

Francis huffed. “I swear to you Gilbert, if Mathieu ever cries or is hurt because of you, I WILL kill you, regardless of any history we’ve had together, you-“

“I know, I get it!” Gilbert snorted, “I knew you’d react like this, if I wasn’t serious about Mattie I would never have dared approach him!” Gilbert walked to Alfred would was still shielding his struggling baby brother. “Yo, American, I’m not getting into Mattie’s pants until he asks me to. I told him before, I’m going to wait for him. Right Mattie?” The Prussian gave Matthew a grin, and the boy smiled slightly back.

“R-right,” he whispered, still looking bashful. Arthur walked up to Alfred, slightly nudging Gilbert aside. Ignoring the glare from the albino, Arthur flicked Alfred's nose. The American let loose a whine and his hands flew up to his nose, releasing Matthew. Arthur caught the boy before he stumbled to the floor, steadying him.

"Thanks Arthur." The other only hummed in response before turning to the group.

"Now that we're done talking about my son's relationship," Arthur sighed. "Any other sarcastic or stupid comment can wait until we reach the table, right? No one wants to sleep with an empty stomach tonight because we were too busy gossiping like women."

“Wait wait wait,” Gilbert held up his hands and looked at Arthur critically. “Your _son_?”

Lovino coughed violently and looked a little horrified, “Wait, so, you and the frog faced bastard...”

“Oh! You had a baby!” Feliciano grinned, “Did you have him with Francis a long time ago, then?”

Lovino slapped his forehead. “Feliciano, I TOLD you where babies come from! Damn it! I mean like-“

Ludwig now cleared his throat loudly, “I believe Arthur is right, we should all go downstairs before making a big deal over this.”

“Not that big a deal anyway,” Miguel snorted and the group began walking again, but Gilbert kept poking Francis in the ribs until the Frenchman finally grabbed his hand and pushed back the middle finger until Gilbert pleaded for mercy and promised to shut up. At last they reached the tavern, ordered food, and the real interrogation began.

“So what, you bastards are all playing happy family now, or what?” Lovino asked, looking sour.

Antonio shook his head, “Lovi’s happy for you really, he just won’t show it!”

“DON’T TELL PEOPLE WHAT I THINK, BASTARD! LIKE YOU WOULD KNOW!”

"Well..." Arthur's eyes flickered over to Francis, unsure if the other wanted the rest to know. Alfred saw Arthur's shared look with Francis and cut in before either could speak.

"Well ya see, Artie here is MY Father-Mother-Parental figure, and Matthew is MY brother," Alfred explained, slinging an arm around Arthur. "Since he sees me as his son, therefore, he sees Mattie as his son!'

Gilbert snorted, “Yep, and Matthew sees Francis as a father-figure, and your his brother, so what does that make Francis to the rest of you then?”

Francis looked very uncomfortable at these questions. “Gilbert, I think it is best to leave these things alone for the moment, don’t you?”

“Knew it!” Gilbert sang out to Francis’ dark expression.

“P-please stop Gilbert, i-it’s making people uncomfortable, eh...” Matthew gave Gilbert a sad expression.

Gilbert glanced at the smaller blonde and actually had the decency to look a bit abashed. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop okay? Geez.” Arthur shook off Alfred's arm, sighing. Alfred looked to Peter, who was looking up to Alfred. The American did the only thing he could do at the time, ask for food.

"Dude, I'm STARVING! Let's eat already!" This got a couple chuckles from Arthur, Matthew, and Peter, two glares from Antonio and Ludwig, Lovino and Miguel rolled their eyes, and the rest actually agreed with the American. Soon the orders were placed and wine was served.

"Hmm. Still prefer tea," Arthur sighed, swishing the ruby red liquid around his glass, not taking a sip at all.

“Really?” Francis leaned down close to Arthur’s ear with a wicked smirk, “What if I were to let you drink it from my mouth?”

Arthur blushed, and nudged the Frenchman hard. "I'd STILL prefer my Earl Gray," Arthur hissed, his face red.

"Hey! They have some!" Alfred said, through a mouthful of food. This made Arthur brighten considerably.

Francis wrinkled his nose, “The most British of teas, a wonder why they would serve it here,” Francis leaned down to Arthur again, “Though I might drink it if I was drinking it from _your_ mouth, _lapin_.” Matthew might’ve caught some of that as he soon after choked slightly on his own drink.

"I hardly think you would drink it here," Arthur hissed. Turning away, he ordered one, smiling eagerly.

“Is that a challenge, _lapin_?” Francis asked quietly, unheard as Arthur was served his tea. Once he had a mouthful, Francis grabbed his chin and forced his mouth on his, working open the lips with his tongue and tilted his head below so the tea slid down his throat. He broke away and grinned. “I will take what I want when I want it, Arthur, and I don’t want there to be any question over that.”

Lovino gagged on his pasta (heavy on the tomatoes), “The fuck? I thought you were saying you weren’t together like that!”

Francis shrugged, “I’ve said nothing for or against that, but even if we weren’t he is still my captive and I can do as I please.”

Arthur, however, was livid. "YOU STOLE MY FUCKING FIRST SIP OF TEA!!" Alfred and Peter stopped eating, staring up at the fuming Englishman.

"What kinda person gets between a Brit and his tea?" Alfred snorted, watching the raging Englishman storm off, teacup in hand.

"Where's he going?" Miguel snorted, an amused smirk on his face.

"TO FUCKING DRINK MY TEA IN PEACE!" Arthur snapped angrily, having heard the man. Peter shivered.

"Brother's weird with his tea."

Francis stared after Arthur for a moment, then broke into laughter again. “How... English of him,” he shook his head in disbelief. Matthew looked a bit worried but Francis gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry _mon chou_ , he’ll be back.”

Antonio looked confused, “But I thought you hated everything about the English?”

Francis gave Antonio a smiling face but there was a tiniest hint of warning in his eyes, “And am I not laughing at him for it?”

Feliciano looked confused. “Ve, but, you shouldn’t laugh at your lover! You laugh with them, and make them-“

“Pasta?” Gilbert suggested, shooting a smirk at Ludwig.

“Yes! But also make them happy!” Feliciano said agreeably.

Francis’ eyebrow raised but said nothing as he continued to eat.

"I think that was actually pretty funny, but still a jerk thing to do," Peter admitted, the smallest of smiles on his face. About half an hour later, Arthur returned, visibility calmer and relaxed. He took his seat and set the empty teacup down. Feeling the stares of others, he looked up.

"What?"

“Nothing,” Miguel shook his head. “Anyway, we should explain the plan for tomorrow for anyone who wasn’t around today,” his eyes drifted between the Vargas brothers and Arthur and the boys.

“Oh, right, kesese,” Gilbert nodded, “Ludwig! Explain it, I’m busy!” he took a big bite of sausage to prove that.

Ludwig looked up from his own plate and sighed, swallowing. “We will be getting up at dawn and headed directly to the ships, so be sure everything is packed tonight and clothes are laid out for tomorrow.”

“ _Merci_ , Ludwig,” Francis said pleasantly.

Antonio looked at Alfred, “You have to be up before dawn to load the remainder of the cargo we’re having delivered. Don’t worry, Miguel will wake you up!”

Alfred sighed theatrically. "Alright." The American turned to his friend and poked his shoulder. "If you wake me up by poking my nose with a stick again, I'm biting you."

Miguel shrugged, “That’s fine by me, I’ve been wanting to try out a new form of torture anyway. Apparently it hurts a lot to force a wet length of cloth down a man’s throat and suddenly pull it all out again.

Antonio suddenly looked rather gleeful, “ _Si_ , that can be very painful! I’ve done that to prisoners before!”

Lovino shuddered, “Don’t talk about that while I’m eating, bastards...”

“Ve, torturing isn’t good...” Feliciano looked sad.

Antonio’s eyes widened and he immediately jumped up to wrap the two Italians into a hug that Lovino immediately started protesting against. “I’M SO SORRY! I forgot how squeamish you both are! I’ll make sure you never have to see that, alright?”

“YOU MISS THE POINT, TOMATO BASTARD!”

Miguel groaned, “I wouldn’t actually do that to Alfred anyway, geez. I’ll just dump a bucket of water over his head to wake him up. Happy?”

"I am if no one else is," Arthur piped in, an eyebrow raised in confused amusement.

"I'm glad too," Alfred sighed happily. He slung his arms around the man, hugging his friend in a bone crushing way Alfred knew annoyed the other.

Miguel groaned and wriggled, “G-get off me!”

At last the group finished their meal and bid each other goodnight, heading to their separate rooms. Francis and Arthur spent some time making sure their belongings were tucked away in their bags before Francis ended up grabbed Arthur into his arms and dragging him onto the bed. However, just as his hand worked beneath the panting Englishman’s shirt, Francis stopped and pulled back and seemed to think for a moment.

“I think perhaps it would be best for you to tuck Peter in tonight, since I... distracted you from that last night. Don’t you agree?” the Frenchman smirked. Arthur, though still red faced, stared at him in surprise.

"For once, you’re not thinking with your dick," Arthur said in amusement, "Amazing." He rolled out from under the childishly protesting Francis and adjusted his clothes. "I'll be back," he said and walked out. He strode down the halls, the questions that had been festering in the far corners of his mind reaching out to him. What if his brothers took to the seas to find him? What if they somehow did find him? What if Peter still insisted on running away? Could Arthur really leave Francis? What if Francis left Arthur? Where would he go, home? Arthur shook his head, clearing it of all those worries as he reached Peter and Matthew's room. He knocked softly.

There was shuffling heard on the other side of the door and Matthew opened it carefully, smiling as he saw Arthur. “Oh, hello! This is a surprise, we were just about to read one of the fairy tales in Peter’s new book, care to join us?”

Arthur smiled warmly. "I'd love to." He walked in when Matthew opened the door wider. Peter smiled excitedly, his blue eyes sparkling as he saw his brother.

"Arthur!" Peter chirped happily. "Did you come to tuck me in?"

"And to listen to Matthew read to you as well," Arthur added, walking over to the boy. Matthew slipped under the covers, blinking in surprise as Arthur wrapped the blankets tightly around them both. Arthur ignored the look, his heart swelling with love as he tucked the two younger boys in. He then sat next to Matthew on top of the covers, handing him the book. Peter smiled widely at them both.

Matthew read for nearly half an hour, translating dutifully into English for Peter though that meant he couldn’t read as fluently as he would usually. At last the boy glanced over and saw that Peter had fallen asleep, Arthur stroking the boy’s hair. Matthew sighed and closed the book.

“Thank you for coming in, I think it made Peter very happy,” Matthew said softly, looking gratefully at Arthur, “And... and me too, I think so...” Matthew bit his lip before suddenly leaning forward and wrapping his arms tightly around Arthur, hugging him tightly. After a moment Arthur returned the hug with as much force. After bidding goodnight and tucking the boys back in, Arthur extinguished the lamp and went to the door. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not to see Francis waiting in the hall for him.

“You were taking a while so I was going to check on you,” Francis admitted, “The children are asleep now, I take it?” The Frenchman’s arm slid lazily around Arthur’s waist, leading him back to their own room.

"Yes, I made sure to tuck them both in." Arthur replied. He let the other guide him back to their room. Arthur flopped onto bed, exhausted. Francis chuckled and followed the Englishman.

"Night Francis," Arthur yawned, barely caring as Francis pulled him into his arms.

" _Bonne nuit_ Arthur."


	11. Shades of a Happier Past

**Chapter 11: Shades of a Happier Past**

At the crack of dawn, Arthur was awoken to find a pair of lips on his own, and a tongue gently diving between them until Arthur gasped and Francis drew back, a thread of saliva connecting them until he spoke. “It is time to go, _lapin_. Let’s go wake our boys,” Francis said, seeming in rather bright spirits as he and Arthur got dressed, taking every opportunity to brush against the Briton like a friendly cat. Arthur wasn’t sure whether this was endearing or annoying, but before he could make a decision they had reached Matthew and Peter’s room and set to work first waking them and then assisting the two in getting ready to leave. Peter had a sudden panic attack as they left the room when he realised they had left the book of fairy tales on the bedside table.

After that was retrieved and put securely into Peter’s arms, the group met with Gilbert, Antonio and the Vargas brothers in the tavern for their last breakfast in port. Once that was taken care of, the group headed out to the docks.

It felt nice to feel the sea rocking him again, and Arthur remained on deck as the crew bustled around putting last minutes crates into place before they drew the anchors. Arthur noticed Alfred moving crates on the Spanish ship, his wrist evidently feeling better, and they exchanged a smile and wave. At long last the three ships left the docks together and began to head out to sea. Arthur stared at the horizon for a while until a tug on his sleeve brought his eyes down to see Peter smiling up at him, Matthew not far behind.

“Um, Yao is down below and is wondering if you’re going to be helping prepare the vegetables for dinner tonight,” Matthew said in explanation.

"Oh, right." Arthur laughed. "I'll be right down." Arthur ruffled their hair as he passed and went down to the kitchens below. He found the busy man scurrying around the place, drawing various pots and pans in haste. Arthur cleared his throat.

"Ah? Oh! Arthur! It's you," Yao sighed in relief.

"What's wrong, Yao?" Arthur asked in concern. "You seem to be on edge, why?"

"Aiyah. I don't know, aru," Yao admitted, tossing a pan back into its cabinet. "I just feel like something's not right, aru. As if something bad is going to happen."

Arthur cocked his head and took the Asian man's hands in his own. "Like what Yao?" Arthur asked curiously.

"I don't know!" Yao snapped. "Maybe I'm just paranoid, aru. Let's prepare dinner already, maybe it'll calm me down to cook." Arthur and Yao both set to work; Yao doing the actual cooking and Arthur helping in any way possible. The stew was ready, and Yao and Arthur passed it out to the men when dinner was announced. When the ship was fed, Yao drew another bowl and handed it to Arthur. Nodding, Arthur grabbed two spoons, two glasses, and a bottle of wine.

"Night, Yao," Arthur called as he left to feed Francis.

"Night Arthur, aru!" Yao called after him. Arthur headed to the captain’s cabin, kicking it softly when he had reached it. "Francis, open. My hands are full," Arthur called.

“ _Un moment s’il vous plait_ ,” Francis’ voice rang out from behind the door. When it finally opened, Arthur’s eyes widened to see that their usual table had a fancy red lace tablecloth draped over it and a candle burning in the center. “ _Tres romantique,_ _non_? Here, allow me,” Francis took the wine and glasses from Arthur to help bring them to the table. As Arthur put down the bowls and spoons though, the Frenchman frowned. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, _lapin_ , but you seem troubled, is everything alright?” Arthur blinked, staring up at Francis in confusion before turning to look at nothing in particular.

"Yao's paranoia must've rubbed off on me," Arthur sighed. "It's nothing really; Yao was agitated because he said something didn't feel right. He said it felt like something bad was going to happen. I guess the feeling just rubbed off onto me." Arthur glanced at the table, and then looked at Francis. "Mix that with surprise, and you've got my mood. Why the sudden romantic antics?"

Francis grinned and pulled out the chair for Arthur to sit down. “Well perhaps you have not been keeping track of such things, but as of today you have been a part of my crew for an entire month! That coupled with our recent relationship developments,” Francis wiggled his eyebrows, “I thought that we could at least be a little more romantic than simply eating and fucking as usual. So once you are finished we shall have some after dinner music. You will enjoy it, believe me. Now, let us take part in supper?”  Arthur sat down, his face entirely red.

"You're so cheesy," Arthur mumbled. "But I'm a fool for falling for it." Dinner proceeded on, Francis taking any and every opportunity to get Arthur flustered. As the food quickly finished, Arthur felt the nagging feeling that he had gained from Yao. Arthur shook his head willing it away. At last Francis and Arthur finished their meals and Francis took Arthur’s hand, surprisingly leading him back onto the deck where Matthew and Peter were waiting. Peter looked a bit surly but perked up when he saw Arthur. Matthew was holding a violin.

“I, er, I couldn’t get Peter to go to sleep, so I just brought him with me, I hope that isn’t too much of a problem?”

Francis sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Well, I _did_ intend for this to be a moonlit dance for the two of us. I even gave Jacques and Claude special instructions to keep most of the crew below deck for an hour so it would be more comfortable.”

"A what?!" Peter and Arthur sputtered at the same time. Their wide eyes mirrored each other, bringing smiles to both Francis and Matthew.

"Well this can't get any more embarrassing," Arthur mumbled, face beat red as Peter let out an " _Eww_."

Francis tutted. “Now, now, Arthur, do not be like that. I cannot help but be romantic, it is who I am. And Matthew plays beautifully.”

Matthew now flushed a little. “Well, um, Francis taught me when I was young; he plays better than I do...”

Francis shook his head, “You are still far above the average, and you have a talent for it! At any rate, I could not dance and play at the same time. If you would, _mon chou_?” Matthew nodded and before any more protests could be made the Canadian placed the instrument beneath his chin and began to play. The melody wove through the air, the high and low notes hanging breathless and mingling with the steadily lapping of the waves against the ship.

“So lovely,” Francis breathed, his surrogate son now lost in his music. Francis turned to the Britons but surprisingly he addressed the younger. “Peter, may I have this dance?” Peter blinked up at Francis, confused.

"You want to dance," Peter clarified. "With me?" Arthur chuckled.

“Of course!” Francis said, using his most winning smile, “Surely you do not want this beautiful music to go to waste?” The Frenchman held out his hand to the boy. Peter looked at Arthur, silently asking permission. Arthur only smiled fondly. Peter smiled back and took the Frenchman's hand.

Francis had to bend over to put one hand in Peter’s and the other on the boy’s side, not quite to his waist. Peter’s free hand clutched Francis’ arm as he could not quite reach the shoulder and the Frenchman led the boy into a simple yet still clumsy version of a waltz. Within a few minutes, Peter’s feet had both made their way onto Francis’ shoes and the man had to straighten to keep balance. Throughout the dance, Peter looked at Francis. At first in curiosity, but gradually the spinning became more amusing to him and the boy started to laugh, sending a few glances back at Arthur until the last note of Matthew’s song rang out across the ship’s deck and faded.

Peter left Francis’ shoes and the man actually bent down on one knee in a bow, taking the boy’s hand and laying a very brief kiss on it. “I thank you for a wonderful dance.” The Frenchman’s eyes met Peter’s and did not leave. “Would it trouble you if I offered your brother the same courtesy?

Peter's smile faded away and became serious as he fell into thought. When he finally did speak, it was slow and deliberate. "I see the way you look at him," Peter said quietly. "I've seen they way he looks at you. I don't really know what's going on, maybe I am too young, like Matthew says, but I trust you not to hurt Arthur." Peter looked up at Arthur and smiled a hit of sadness in it. "I'll always be brother's number one," Peter hummed. "But if he wants to dance with you, then that's not really my decision at all."

Arthur stared at the boy, a bittersweet emotion of shock and love. A smile spread across Arthur's lips, but tears sprang from his eyes. He blinked in confusion as a hand was placed before him, palm up. He trailed up it, from fingertips to the blue eyes of Francis.

Matthew had watched this display with an expression of thrill, and began a new song, just as beautiful as the last. Francis’ eyes seemed to sparkle in the moonlight. “Well, your brother has left the decision to you. Will you dance with me?”

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. Unable to speak, he nodded, gently placing his hand into Francis's. This done, the Frenchman placed his hands comfortably in Arthur’s palm and at his waist. Arthur would take the woman’s half of the dance it seemed but for once he did not mind as France led him through all the steps. At first Arthur stumbled, used to the male side of this particular waltz but once he adjusted himself the two flowed across the deck like the water in the sea around them, eyes on each other staring so deep Arthur could almost swear he saw a glimmer of his dance partner’s very soul. The two leaned closer, Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut...

But it was at that moment that the music screeched and Matthew yelped loudly. Francis and Arthur both looked up in shock, to see Matthew pointing out at the water, to a boat none had noticed before and was approaching them quickly.

“ _Zut!_ ” Francis swore, “ALL HANDS ON DECK NOW!” he hollered, then turned to Arthur, “Take the boys and hide somewhere, I don’t recognise that flag they are flying.” Francis hurried to the door below deck which was opening to reveal Claude looking rather confused until Francis pointed out the ship. From there the alarm was raised, a signal sent to Antonio and Gilbert’s ships that were behind and to the right of them, the strange ship approaching from the left. Return flares meant that they too were raising the alarm, but despite the fact it must have seen these flares from three ships the strange ship continued to approach.

Arthur nodded and grabbed both boys by their arms. He rushed the two boys down below, having difficulty as Matthew struggled against him, searching Antonio's ship for Alfred. "Alfred will be fine," Arthur said soothingly. He ushered both boys into Matthew's room and ran back on deck. A hand caught him by his upper arm, and Arthur swirled to look into Francis's blazing, infuriated eyes. "It's a Welsh flag," Arthur explained quickly. "I highly doubt you have another bloody Welsh speaker on this ship other than me! Besides, I'm not a stranger to warfare, Francis."

Francis’ eyes narrowed. “They likely speak English as well... fine. But do not leave my sight!” As the ship drew closer, Francis noticed a flag was raised to indicate they wanted a peaceful confrontation. They wanted to talk. That was odd, but then, what else could this ship do against three? Francis gave orders for his crewmembers to stay on guard, but to keep their weapons lowered for the time being. As Antonio and Gilbert’s ships drew closer, word was sent to them to come around to the other side if possible and box this ship in. If they were unfriendly, then they would not escape punishment for their foolish behaviour.

The other ship did nothing, allowing for the three ships to surround it. Arthur watched as the crew on the other ship scrambled about to be boarded peacefully. He sat on the railing, watching Gilbert cross onto the other ship. Two men came up from bellow the Welsh deck, drawing Arthur's attention. One man, obviously the captain by the way he was dressed, was blonde and burly with a beard. The other man made Arthur's heart stop.

The other was a younger man, although older than Arthur. His hair was shoulder length and wavy, a dark blonde, almost brown color. Dark, forest green eyes with two very bushy eyebrows set atop them scanned the ship as it was filled with the crew from the other three ships. A simple green cloak wrapped around his shoulders. Two green pairs of eyes met, and hell was thrown in suddenly.

"ARTHUR!"

"EDWARD!"

Francis looked down at Arthur in confusion. “You know that man?” he asked as Gilbert approached the Welsh captain and asked gruffly in English that he state his business. The captain gestured to the man at his side that had addressed Arthur and that man, Edward, began walking across the ship to the railing nearest the French ship. Francis watched him carefully, waiting for him to speak first.

"Arthur," the man, Edward repeated. "It's been so long."

"Since I took Peter away with me," Arthur agreed. Edward chuckled and held out his arms.

"Well, do I get a hug little brother?" Arthur shook off the hand that grabbed him and leapt into Edward's arms. The two brothers rejoiced, laughing happily until a cough broke them up. " _Mae'n ddrwg gennym capten_!" Edward laughed, not releasing the laughing Arthur. He turned to face the seething Francis and amused Antonio and Gilbert.

"I am Edward Kirkland," Edward introduced, smiling widely. "This here is the captain, who doesn’t speak an ounce of anything but Welsh. We were actually looking for my little brother, Arthur, but I just found him."

Arthur's smile quickly fell, his eyes widening in fear. "Who sent you, Ed?"

"Scott," Edward sighed, his smile fading to a morbid frown. "Who else, Art?"

Francis quickly leapt the gap as well and stood next to Arthur. He forced a smile onto his face and held out a hand to Edward. “It is a pleasure to meet more of Arthur’s family. What are your intentions?” The Frenchman was cutting straight to the chase, not wanting to linger here longer than necessary if it could be avoided; they weren’t far enough from the coast as far as he was concerned.

"I have to take Arthur home," Edward replied grimly, making a face as he shook Francis's hand. Arthur pulled away from his brother, ignoring the small sad, "Arthur" that left Edward's lips. Arthur glared at Edward, a childish side of him peeking through as he crossed his arms.

"I'm not going back Ed," Arthur said softly, his eyes watering. "I'm not going back."

"I know Artie," Edward sighed, lowering his eyes. "I wouldn't go back either if I had your freedom."

Francis watched the exchange curiously, his anger having ebbed slightly once he was sure Arthur had no intention of letting himself go with Edward either. “Well... he’s not exactly...” Francis trailed off, thinking better of his speech. “So Scott is looking for him. We will keep that in mind. Are you going to tell him where Arthur is?”

"I have no choice," Edward sighed. "Don't have to be specific, just tell Scott I saw Art on sea. That'll be enough to settle Scott's curiosity for not. He's more interested in going through Arthur's savings."

Arthur bristled in fury. "That bastard's going through my money?"

"Scott got a letter from the bank for your account," Edward explained. "I don't know how long you've been saving, but that sure was a LOT of zeros."

"And now Scott's spending it all on ciggies and spirits," Arthur growled. "That was Peter's inheritance!"

Edward shrugged, "I honestly don't care for the little fucker. Killed Mum." Arthur looked up at the sky, sighing. "So where does this leave us Art?" Edward asked curiously.

"Well I'm not leaving."

"Never imagined a pirate's life for you," Edward mused. "That that whole attitude during your teens was just a stage. Unless..." The pairs of green eyes flashed toward Francis, who raised an eyebrow back.

" _Mae'n gymhleth,_ ” Arthur sighed. Edward hummed.

"So you won't leave, not that I blame you," Edward continued. "I can't leave this unscathed or Scott'll skin me."

“And what does that mean, you won’t leave this unscathed?” Francis asked, eyes flickering to the rest of Edward’s crew, though they seemed uninterested in their conversation. If anything they looked wary of the pirates eyeing them from all sides.

"Your um..friend's crew seems eager for a fight," Edward pointed out, pointing toward Gilbert's crew, all of whom where twirling their blades or twitching irritably.

“Don’t worry about them, they won’t fight unless it is deemed necessary, even if they want to,” Francis waved the idea away.

"Anyway, if Scott finds I met with Art...." Edward trailed off.

"Ed?" Arthur questioned. "What's going through your head, brother?"

"What if I NEVER saw you, Arthur?" Edward asked, smiling brightly. "I won’t tell if you won't!"

Francis’ eyes widened. “That would be ideal...” he looked at Arthur, “Do you believe he would keep his word on this?”

"That's not really how Ed is," Arthur mumbled, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. "What're you playing at, Eddie?" Edward smiled softly and held up his palms. Arthur stared and slipped his hands into Edward's.

"Maybe I think my adventurous little brother should be free," Edward hummed. "I can't see you chained like the rest of us. I was almost free, but...well, you know how Scott is. I want to see you of all people defy him. Plus," Edward giggled childishly. " _Rwyf wrth fy modd yn gwybod pan fyddaf yn ei weld_.” Arthur blushed.

"You’re so stupid, Ed," Arthur sniffed, eyes watering. Edward laughed.

Francis sighed, “Well, in that case, I suppose we can go our separate ways, then?” He waved to Gilbert and the German groaned, starting to direct his pirates to prepare to go back to their ship. Francis looked at Edward. “Normally I would take over your ship, slaughter you all and plunder your valuables for wasting my time like this. For Arthur’s sake I will refrain.”

"Oh?" Edward hummed. "That's sweet, but I really don't care for the rest of these men."

Francis’ eyebrow rose. “It would be difficult to say you never saw us if you were the only one to return to shore. While Arthur too might not have much issue with taking over this ship, I hardly think he’d take kindly to me killing you, which is the only option if we did something so rash. Well, unless you joined mine or one of my friends’ crews. But the way you speak it sounds that you would not go so far to escape this... Scott.”

"People get lost at sea ALL the time," Edward smirked, a mischievous dark glint in his eyes.

"Oh stop being so sadistic Ed," Arthur shivered. "It's bloody mental, those swings on yours."

Edward smiled at his brother and pulled him into a hug. He glanced up at Francis, a sad look to his face. "Well, of course I wouldn't leave Scott," Edward said gently. "The woman I loved died because I tried to leave. I learned my lesson." A small silence fell over the two boys. Edward's loud laughter made Arthur squeak, jumping in his older brother's arms. "Well, it's late," Edward smiled widely. "Artie should be in bed-"

"Don't coddle me, you wanker!"

"Your ships should be sailing, and I should be gone. I never saw Arthur, and I most definitely didn't see any ships at sea!"

"Scott'll toss you around for this," Arthur sighed, a look of fear and worry on his face. Edward shrugged.

"Rather that tosser slug me around than you. Besides, the sea is too vast to search. It's not the forest back home." Arthur nodded, his fingers subconsciously curling around Edward's cloak. The Welsh man saw this and unhooked it from his neck, revealing a thin white shirt and simple brown pants. He wrapped it around Arthur, covering his clothes.

"Here, now you don't look so French," Edward beamed. "Take care of yourself, eh lad. Don’t go and listen to strange fairies!"

"I'm not five, Ed!"

Francis gave both brothers a serious look before nodding and putting an arm firmly around Arthur’s shoulders. “I hope we do not need to cross paths again in a worse setting than this,” Francis said solemnly as Arthur and Edward bid a final goodbye. The Welsh captain looked very confused to see Francis and Arthur both return to their ship and Edward went over to find an explanation for their departure. The pirates retreated to their ships, Francis promising Gilbert and Antonio to explain the details of the situation later. Francis remained on deck with Arthur as their small fleet drew away from the Welsh ship and sailed out into the dark waters, until it was but a distant speck. “I think we should go check on Peter and Mathieu,” Francis said finally as the Welsh ship winked out of sight.

Arthur sighed. "I should've said something that would've made him happy, he was so depressed." He turned and began to walk away. Not hearing footsteps behind him, Arthur turned, frowning when he saw a shocked Francis, still where he had left him. "Is that weird?" Arthur inquired. The giddier and happier he seems, the more depressed he really is. It's not THAT shocking, is it?"

Francis coughed slightly and composed himself. “Well it... it’s not that... I just...” Francis’ shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Never mind, it’s not important now anyway, I just realised something, that’s all. Come, let’s check on the children,” Francis mumbled, fending off Arthur’s questions by ruffling his hair and telling him it really was nothing to worry about until they finally reached the cabin where Arthur had stashed the two, opening the door to find them both huddled on the bed, Matthew reading from the fairy tale book as if to comfort Peter. They both looked up with relief.

“I didn’t hear sounds of battle, so I’d hoped that everything was fine,” Matthew said softly.

"Yes, everything went smoothly," Arthur replied, smiling warmly. "Peter didn't try to come up and spy, did he?"

Matthew shook his head. “He tried at first, but I convinced him it was best not to... um...he did listen at the door for a while but I guess you went to the other ship? He said he didn’t hear anything.”

“We did,” Francis nodded, “It was a brief exchange, they were looking for someone they knew but left empty-handed.”

“Oh,” Matthew said, frowning and looking down at Peter who was still staring across the room from the bed, “Well, I hope they find them... I guess... Peter? Aren’t you gonna um, go hug Arthur? Or something?” Peter was aimlessly flipping through the pages, pretending not to pay attention.

"No," Peter replied quietly. His eyes flickered over to Arthur before turning back down to the book and flipping the pages. Arthur sighed, bringing his hand up to run it through his short locks in exasperation.

"So you did hear," Arthur said. Peter made no indication that he heard him, still flipping through the pages.

"Look, Edward-"

"I don't want to talk about your stupid family," Peter said sharply. "They hate me anyway."

"What he said Peter, just ignore it," Arthur said in frustration. "It didn't mean anything. And he's your half brother too!"

"I'm not talking about what the bloody tosser said."

"Then what?!"

"I'm talking about you acting so damn happy with him!" Peter snapped back. "You've told me all that you've had to suffer at his hands, and yet you still act like a child around him!"

"I've explained this so many times to you before Peter," Arthur hissed. "I'm not explaining it again!"

"Suddenly so bold because you haven't had a dream in a month?" Peter challenged. Arthur glared.

"I'm done with you, Peter," Arthur said quietly. "I'm going to bed, goodnight." Arthur turned and walked out, leaving the other three in the room. Peter sniffed and bowed his head, staring at his book. Francis shared a look with Matthew and then approached the bed.

“Peter,” Francis said softly, looking slightly uncomfortable but apparently determined to try anyway.

“Perhaps I am not the one to speak to you this way, but it must be said,” he stopped a moment to think, then continued, “Your brother has done... everything he has done has been for you. From the moment I met him, until this moment, his primary concern has been your wellbeing. Yes there have been instances, precious few, where his actions have been to benefit himself but overall you are the one he cares for most. And I cannot change that, even if I wanted to.”

The Frenchman went on, “And you also care about him more than anyone else. But what you do not seem to realise is that even though your brother does everything in his power to give you everything he did not have, he is not your father. He is your brother. And while it is true that siblings should love and support one another in all that they do, one sibling cannot take on all responsibility all of the time and cannot be expected to have all the years of experience needed to stop acting the way they have always acted with someone. Edward is Arthur’s older brother and has been for longer than you existed. Even in a house as chaotic as the one Arthur has described to me, there must have been moments of comfort in it or else Arthur could not have survived to be the man he is today. So he acts as a child upon seeing the brother who perhaps did not do him as much harm as the others. It is only natural. And perhaps you are young Peter, but your brother had to grow up very fast to be able to take on the responsibility of caring for you. Believe me, I know having done the same with my sister. So to help him with that burden, you also need to grow up to an extent. You cannot be a selfish child and expect Arthur to love you and only you, and to care for you and only you. I certainly cannot expect him to do that for me. You must mature and accept your brother’s other relationships with other people and form more of your own, for both your own sake and your brother’s.” Francis straightened as Peter refused to look at him and sighed. “Although I suppose I cannot force you to do that either, that’s your own choice.” Francis began walking toward the door.

"It's not fair," Peter whispered.

Francis stopped upon hearing this and closed his eyes, putting a hand to his forehead. Finally he turned around and gave Peter a fierce glare. As he spoke his words continued to rise in volume until even Matthew was shaking. “It was not fair what your brothers did to Arthur. It was not fair that he lost his childhood. It was not fair that he felt he had to take you in, and it’s not fair that he gave up everything he might have had to care for you. None of that was fair to Arthur, but he still went through with it, and still chose the path he did, and he does not regret it because he knew he was doing the right thing. You say you want to be like your brother. Well the only way you will ever do that is if you stop whining about whether or not things are ‘fair’ and begin doing things because they are right!”

Finally at the point of shouting, Francis turned again, opened the door and slammed it shut behind him, heading swiftly for his own cabin. When he opened the door to find Arthur sitting on his bed, the Frenchman’s face was still red with anger and his hair was in disarray from running his hand through it so much trying to calm himself. He went straight to the bed and before Arthur could breathe a word Francis grabbed his shirt and pulled him up into a fierce, passionate kiss. It was a good thirty seconds before he finally released the Briton, leaving them both gasping for air.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" Arthur panted; face bright red and his eyes wide. The red rimming of them held the tell tale signs of past fallen tears.

Francis smirked slightly, “Just reminding myself how lucky I am. Although, of course, that’s probably too mushy for you. That is the word, _non_? Mushy?”

"What exactly are you babbling on about, Frog?" Arthur quipped, his face still red.

Francis grinned, running fingers through Arthur’s blonde locks. “Just that I love you, and you love me. Isn’t that wonderful?” Arthur blushed a deeper red and hid his face in Francis's chest. Something that sounded like strangled Welsh was heard coming from Arthur, although muffled through Francis's clothing. “Ah? What was that, _lapin?”_ Francis asked, looking confused as he pulled Arthur back to look at his adorable flushed face.

"I called you an idiot," Arthur huffed, looking embarrassed and obviously lying as his eyes roamed anywhere but at Francis. "I'll say it again; _Rwy'n dy garu di_."

“Hmm,” Francis took Arthur’s chin in his hand and brought him to look him in the eyes. He smirked again. “Perhaps you were calling me an idiot, but your eyes are saying you love me. That’s good enough.” Francis leaned in again and brushed his lips against Arthur’s. Then he sighed and drew back, leaning himself against the headboard of the bed and pulling Arthur down to his side. “I wonder...” he mumbled as he stroked Arthur’s hair absently, “Perhaps Peter would be happier if we all just... just found some farm on the mainland somewhere, or some small town we could settle together away from all of this... somewhere he could meet children his own age...” Francis let these words hang in the air.

"I wish," Arthur murmured, eyes closing. "I'd love that, and I know Peter would love that as well. Not having to move every other month for fear of being found. The cliff house was the longest place we've ever lived; for 6 months."

Francis hummed, his own eyes closing as well, “We could move far into the mainland, change our names... Gilbert and Antonio may come with us too... ah...” Francis sighed, “Of course if your brother is as persistent as you say it might be impossible. Though it makes me wonder, how long has he been looking for you? Did he not know you were a naval captain?”

"He knew I was in England, which was enough for him. So long as I sent him a check of 250 pounds every month he was fine with giving me some space," Arthur hummed. "He'd send Will or Ed to come and check on me, but he himself didn't bother me. If I left, well, I'm living the consequences now. If he finds me, he won't let me leave his side ever again, and he'd kill Peter."

“I’d kill him first.” Francis’ arm tightened considerably around Arthur. “If he finds you and even tries such a thing, I will kill him.” Arthur was quiet, thinking about his siblings. Closing his eyes, he bit his bottom lip.

"I don't want him dead," Arthur said quietly. "There’s some good to him, but...a part of me wants him dead as well."

Francis snorted. “You don’t understand me. I don’t care whether you want him dead or not, if he comes to take you away, I _will_ kill him. I will _not_ lose you. It is that simple.” Arthur looked up at Francis, seeing the rage in the blue orbs. He reached up and placed a gentle kiss on Francis's lips.

"I know why William said what he said," Arthur muttered when they broke apart. "Heh, what a wanker."

“William?” Francis looked confused, his rage abated by the kiss, “That’s your other brother, isn’t it?” Francis frowned, “What did he say?”

“‘Doesn’t matter who or why, you stay with the one who takes that part of your innocence'," Arthur repeated the words. “‘Don’t be like our whore of a mother.' I understand what he meant by that. I only wonder how he learned that."

Francis stared into Arthur’s eyes for a moment in shock, and then smiled slightly, “Well, I should not complain about such a phrase if it makes you stay with me, but I’m rather glad I did not stay with the one who took that part of my innocence... or the other part either for that matter. Regrettably, Jeanne was not my first time by any means.”

"Hmm. I can't remember if I've told you this before, but sex isn't taken so lightly by any of my brothers thanks to Mum," Arthur sighed. "All of my brothers, minus Edward and me, are still virgins. Even Connor."

“Who is Conner? How many brothers do you have again?” Francis asked, looking wary.

"Scott is the eldest of us all," Arthur began. "Our Mum, well, she didn't have the best of luck. Scott's dad was Scottish, our Mum's first husband. He died and Mum got with some Irish man. They got married and had William. But Will's father cheated on Mum and had Connor with some other woman. Connor and his parents moved to America leaving Mum alone with Scott and Will. Edward was a mistake from a one night stand. Mum then married my Dad. I was born and she fell into a depression. Dad left to London to get more money for us. Peter was made from one of Dad's visits. So little Peter is my only full brother, the rest are my half. We don't count Connor as a brother though, yet he has the same fearful respect for Scott. After Mum died, Scott had Dad murdered. So custody technically went to him for all of us. We all used Mum's maiden name of Kirkland because we really only had her. And Scott. Besides, Kirkland sounds better than anything else."

Francis sighed, “That sounds... complicated...” he smirked and in a swift motion pinned Arthur to the bed, hovering over him. “I definitely can’t let you go back there, can I? _Non_ , you will stay safe here with me. Peter too. We will evade Scott until he catches up and oh, I expect he will eventually. When he does I will kill him,” Francis kissed Arthur’s mouth as it opened to speak and when he drew back his whispered in an excited, breathless way, “And when he is gone I will retire us all to a beautiful vineyard near a charming little town where my sister can visit us on holidays.” The Frenchman grinned and began to pull up Arthur’s shirt, “And we’ll screw like rabbits every night, though of course we do that anyway, _non_?”

Arthur blushed, letting Francis slip his shirt off. "That's one way of putting it," Arthur huffed. He sighed as Francis's lips connected to his neck. "I think Eddie liked you," Arthur hummed. "If he didn't, he would've sliced off your dick for being even lightly protective of me." When Francis paid no heed, Arthur huffed angrily. "You horny wanker."

“Sticks and stones, you like it too,” Francis smirked before beginning to lap at Arthur’s nipple, tweaking the other with his fingers just how he knew Arthur liked it. He finally drew his mouth away at least. “You ought to be very glad he liked me then, I doubt I could make you feel half as good tonight without that.”

"Too true," Arthur replied airily, arching and squirming as Francis's fingers teased his pert nipples. Pleased noises rumbled in Arthur's throat, but his lips remained sealed in a challenging way.

Determined to bring sound through those pretty lips, Francis lowered his head to Arthur’s neck and licked it a moment before kissing and then sucking on it, determined to form a hickey. After a minute though, Arthur felt the lips on his neck change position slightly before continuing to suck. All the while his nipples continued to be teased and once Francis had apparently formed the hickey to his satisfaction he moved on to nibbled on the front of Arthur’s throat, forcing the Brit to stretch his chin skyward. Arthur's lips parted his breathing haggard. He gasped, making a keening noise as Francis nibbled gently on his Adam's apple.

Satisfied with the sound, Francis drew away from Arthur neck and kissed his way down the Briton’s body, kissed around the back of Arthur’s penis but then appeared to tease him more as he started going down Arthur’s thigh. When Arthur looked down to glare at Francis for this, Francis merely gave him a playful and challenging look, as if to ask what he was going to do about it. Arthur growled. He pulled away and slunk his body over Francis's. Arthur simply stared at Francis; slapping away Francis's hands began to roam. Francis frowned, quirking an eyebrow. Arthur shrugged, unsure of his own tactics. He trailed a tongue up Francis' chest, stopping to nip harshly at his nipples.

“Ah!” Francis stiffened slightly, feeling heat rush to his groin. His hands encircles the back of Arthur’s neck, keeping him close as a throaty moan sounded. “M-more, _mon amour_ , it’s... _tres bon_!”

Arthur snickered, letting go of Francis' nipple. He trailed his nose around the other's chest, giggling as Francis let out a growling noise. "An eye for an eye, love."

Francis changed his growl to a pout. “But that is hardly fair! I would have gotten to it eventually; I was only making you wait!” He sighed in his overly dramatic way, “The first time you’re being properly dominant and it’s out of revenge, and you won’t even follow through with it!”

"Hm, Eddie's random appearance messed me up," Arthur sighed. "I feel oddly depressed. So many years and my first direct contact in so long was so short. Not to mention Peter put me off as well." He shook his head. "Ugh, enough of that." He swooped down and captured Francis’ lips in a soft kiss.

Francis made a quiet noise against Arthur’s lips and laid himself back on the bed, pulling Arthur down on top of him. “Well, then I suppose we need to cheer you up...” the Frenchman’s hands wandered down Arthur’s back, resting comfortably on his buttocks. “Anything in particular you’d like done?”

Arthur shrugged, resting his head on Francis's chest. "I'm happy to just be with you," Arthur muttered, blushing bright red.

Francis felt his own face heat up at that statement, and coughed slightly, running his hands up and down Arthur’s naked back, thinking. After a moment, a devious smirk rose on his face. “I am feeling a little tired now, _lapin_ , would you care to ride me, tonight?”

Arthur blushed. "Ride?" Their nightly rituals had not included this sexual term and it intrigued him.

Francis chuckled. “Surely you’ve heard of it? It merely means that you would do the work tonight while remaining the bottom. You make sure I am fully erect, impale yourself, and move yourself up and down and around until we are satisfied. Would you mind?”

Arthur blushed. "Well, I could try." Arthur shimmied down, face to dick with Francis's cock. He licked it once, trailing slowly in a teasing way, and engulfed the head.

“Oh...” Francis’ head fell back onto the mattress and he moaned with abandon, his fingers moving down to curl themselves into Arthur’s butter blonde locks. “Wonderful... _mon lapin, mon amour_ , don’t stop...” Slowly the Frenchman’s penis grew considerably harder. When it was at fully attention, Francis stopped his moaning and grunted. “Wait, stop, give it... a moment...” The two waited a bit for Francis to calm himself slightly, “Now... you can go on now...” he mumbled, his eyes hazing. Arthur gave it one last lick and crawled over Francis. Arthur cocked his head, furrowing his brows.

"Will this even work, Frog?" Arthur asked unsurely. He let the other guide his hips to a sitting position on Francis's lap, shivering as the hardened member throbbed against his backside.

Francis smirked. “It will work if the feeling is not too much for you. We’ve done this regularly for a month, you should be able to manage.” This said, Francis kept himself aligned with Arthur’s hole as the Briton sat, slowly engulfing Francis’ length. He had to stop halfway to catch his breath before finally completely sheathing Francis within himself. He sat there panting for a moment. “A-are you alright?” Francis asked, himself very red as well.

Arthur bit at his lips furiously, his face etched into a mask of slight pain. "Give me a minute," he gasped. A full torturous minute passed before Arthur finally shifted in Francis's lap, bringing forth a hiss from the other. "O-Okay," Arthur panted. "Do I just...?" He shifted again, unsure of how to go about in such a position.

Francis whined slightly, “J-just do what f-feels good, move however... t-try to hit your prostate, if at all possible...” Francis groaned as Arthur moved again, “B-but yes, move how I would normally move in you, slide it in and out, g-go on...”

Arthur used his knees to gain leverage, pulling out. He lowered himself back down, gasping at the feeling. He did it again, and again and again. He sped up, his hands grasping at Francis's chest for support. He threw his head back, exposing his neck and letting out a load moan as the tip of Francis's penis hit his sweet spot. "F-Francis!"

“A-Arthur,” Francis moaned, his hips bucking upward and hitting the spot harder. “G-go faster, please...” Arthur’s breaths came out in short pants. He quickened his pace, practically screaming every time his prostate was hit.

“Arthur, Arthur!” Francis’ voice rose in volume, “ _Mon lapin, mon amour,_ I-I’m close...” Francis thrust his hips upward, slamming hard into Arthur’s prostate as he came inside the Briton. Arthur wailed the two sensations of the rather hard thrust to his prostate and the feeling of being filled sent him over the edge. He shot his load on Francis's chest and promptly collapsed onto it. Panting and trembling in exhaustion, Arthur placed a chaste kiss on Francis's neck.

“Perfect,” Francis sighed, “You were perfect... ah, we should clean up a little before we sleep, and I prepared a cloth beforehand. The sheets were cleaned properly before we left and I’d like to keep them that way a bit longer, _non_?” Francis gestured to a shallow bowl of water nearby with a cloth in it. Arthur glanced at the washcloth and grabbed it. He dipped it in the bowl of water and promptly began to clean the two.

Francis grunted slightly as the cool wet cloth passed over his stomach, but once they were both clean enough he sighed blissfully and pulled back the sheets for Arthur to get in and then cuddled close with him. “Peter will accept all this eventually,” Francis said quietly, “And we will all live happily. Believe that, I certainly do. There’s no need to be depressed. Move forward.”

Arthur hummed. He buried his nose into the crook of Francis's neck, deciding not to say anything. Peter had been erased from his mind until Francis had brought up the subject. The small hope in his chest expanded, bringing a smile to his face. "I do believe."

Francis smiled and closed his eyes. Arthur felt the Frenchman bury his face into Arthur’s hair as they both fell to sleep, though one more comfortably than the other. Arthur tossed and turned his childhood seeping into his dreams, morphing into nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH 11 TRANSLATIONS
> 
> Mae'n ddrwg gennym capten! - (Welsh) Sorry captain!
> 
> Mae'n gymhleth - (Welsh) It's complicated
> 
> Rwyf wrth fy modd yn gwybod pan fyddaf yn ei weld - (Welsh) I know love when I see it.
> 
> Rwy'n dy garu di - (Welsh) I love you


	12. Breaking

**Chapter 12: Breaking**

_"Lad, where do you think you're goin?" Arthur looked over his shoulder, eyebrows knotted in fear and confusion as he stared at his eldest brother, hidden in the shadows of the dark living room._

_"Eddie told me to go-"_

_"Does Ed give the orders around here?" Scott cut him off, matching emerald eyes digging into Arthur, making the boy tremble in fear._

_"Y-Yes?" Scott stood up, crossed the room, and promptly backhanded the smaller boy. Arthur wailed, holding his bruised cheek._

_"Does Ed give the orders around this house?" Scott repeated._

_"N-No," Arthur whispered. Scott grabbed the boy by the scruff of his dirty nightgown. Arthur whimpered, having only a second to prepare himself before Scot slammed his head into the wall. His world blurred, dancing in and out of focus as pain spiked up his spine and throughout his skull. Blood flew out from somewhere, he didn't know where, but the sticky substance filled his mouth and nose, cutting off his quickly depleting air supply._

_"SCOTT STOP!" Arthur fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, hissing in pain as gentle fingers gingerly touched his face. "Scott, what the hell-" The sound of skin meeting skin and another's gasp of pain reached the dazed child's ears._

_"Were you ordering Arthur around, Edward?"_

_"I sent him to bed, you asshole!"_

_"He's MY responsibility, therefore MINE to command! Remember that, lad." Edward screamed, and the sickening sound of bones breaking make Arthur force his eyes open. Edward was kneeling before Scott, holding his hand to his chest, tears freely falling down his face as he sobbed. William stood nearby, watching worriedly._

_"Will, take Artie to bed," Scott commanded. William nodded and walked past the two, gently picking up the smaller one. Arthur stared at Edward, eyes wide and completely oblivious to the blood still streaming from his nose._

_"Eddie?" Arthur whimpered, tears welling in his eyes. Scott reached over, ignoring the boy's flinch, and ruffled his hair._

_"I'll be in later to read to you," Scott promised, kissing Arthur's forehead. "Edward won't be able to tonight." Arthur began crying, choosing instead to cling to Will, gently pressing his face into Will's shirt. The Irish boy walked up the stairs, entering the bedroom that the English boy and the Welsh one shared._

_"It's your fault Edward's being punished," William said quietly. The sounds of Edward's agonized screams reached their ears. Arthur choked on his tears, looking up at William in fear as the other's hands wrapped around his neck. "It's your fault Arthur."_

_"W-Will, please. I...I didn't know!"_

_"It's YOUR fault Arthur." Arthur's hands flew to his neck, scratching furiously at Will's hands as the pressure around it increased._

_"P-Please! Not...my fault!"_

\--

"It's not my fault, I’m so sorry. Please, please."

“Arthur?” a soft shaking of his shoulder did nothing so a sharp slap on the cheek jolted Arthur to wakefulness. He stared bleary-eyed until he could focus on Francis next to him, who looked very worried. “You were thrashing and... and crying, in your sleep,” The Frenchman said quietly, “You wouldn’t wake when I shook you, what were you dreaming of that was so horrible, _lapin_?”

Arthur's hands flew to his neck, and then reached up to feel his face. Nothing was harmed, each body part only tingling from the memory. Arthur whimpered and brought his knees up, encircling his arms around them and burying his face. He said nothing, choosing instead to ignore Francis as silent sobs wracked his body.

The Frenchman frowned, and then quickly wrapped his arms around the smaller man, holding the shaking body to his chest, trying to surround him with as much of his own body as possible. “Shh, _cheri_ , there are no monsters here, everything is fine.” Arthur looked up at Francis, his eyes childlike and sad, and filled to the brim with tears.

"Francis," he croaked. "I...I didn't mean to! I-I was just doing as Edward told me to! I didn't mean to get him punished!"

Francis’ eyes widened slightly and he continued to hold Arthur close. The first rays of dawn were beginning to fill the cabin so he could properly make out the tears forming on Arthur’s cheeks. He wiped them away with his fingers. “ _Lapin_ , he will not be punished, everything is fine, it was just a bad dream.” Francis laid a kiss on Arthur’s forehead, “How about we get up now? Yao should have started breakfast.”

Arthur only nodded, moving his hand up to his neck. "Francis." When blue orbs turned to stare at him, Arthur bit his lip. "I..." Ignoring Francis's worried look, he shook his head. "Never mind." He got up, stretching and rubbing his tears away.

Francis frowned again, but said nothing as they both dressed themselves. They went to the deck and sure enough, Yao was coming up from the kitchen to announce breakfast had started. “Go wake Mathieu and Peter,” Francis said to Arthur and went to meet with the crew to give the day’s orders.

Arthur walked off, his hand still rubbing his neck. In his mind, William still had his hands wrapped around his neck. He knocked on the door. "Peter, Matthew," Arthur called. "Boys, may I come in?"

A low groan was heard on the other said of the door. “ _Cinq minutes plus, Papa_!”

Arthur smiled and tried the knob. Finding it unlocked, he swung it open and stared at the two boys in bed. Peter was still sleeping, although stirring, and Matthew was groggily staring up at him. "Up, you two," Arthur said gently, walking over and brushing a lock of Matthew's hair from his face. "Your father wants the two of you up now." Peter stirred, opening one bleary blue eye. Arthur ruffled his hair.

Matthew groaned again and stretched lazily. “Right... I’ll be up in a minute, eh? Just... so tired... since we were up later than usual...” the Canadian pulled the covers off of himself and Peter, nudging the smaller boy with his foot. “Come on, then.” Peter sneezed suddenly and Matthew froze. “Um, Pete-“ the boy sneezed again, and that turned into a cough. “Uh oh...” Arthur immediately ripped his hand away from his neck and placed it over Peter's forehead. Peter coughed again.

"He's got a cold," Arthur groaned. "What the bloody hell?" Peter smiled sickly up at his brother.

"You have bags under your eyes," Peter pointed out.

"You're sick."

“I’ll get some clothes on and tell Yao to start making some soup for him, eh?” Matthew got out of bed quickly and hurried to get his clothes on as Peter and Arthur looked the other way. He winced suddenly. “I-I’m probably going to get it too, huh? Well, it can’t be helped.” The boy sighed heavily and got his shoes on. “I’ll be right back!”

"So about the bags under your eyes?"

"Save it, you smug bastard," Arthur mumbled, pressing a loving kiss to the boy's forehead. "You jinxed me. You and Eddie."

"You’re so fond of him," Peter sneered, making Arthur sigh tiredly.

"Ed was the only light of hope," Arthur explained, as he had many times before. "When Linda came into his life, Ed was thrilled. They probably would've taken me away with them to America if all had gone as planned. Instead, she was taken from us."

Peter sighed. "I'm tired."

Arthur chuckled. "Of course you are, you're sick lad, and with a cold no less. Those buggers are nasty." Peter hummed an agreement.

About five minutes later Matthew re-entered the room carrying what was assumed to be his and Arthur’s breakfast. “Yao will send someone with soup as soon as it’s done. Francis said he has some medicine that could help with the coughing at least so he’s getting that. We thought it would be best if Peter just shared a bit of breakfast so he can finish all the soup when it’s done since that might help him more.”

"Hm. Thank you Matthew," Arthur said, a small tired smile brightening his face. He took the offered plate and sat on the floor beside Peter. The boy stared at his brother, and then lazily flicked his eyes up at Matthew.

"Well this sucks," the boy sighed, reaching over and plopping his hat onto his head. "I get to be bored all day."

"Hm. Last I checked lad, you wanted to spend a lazy day reading in bed," Arthur mused. Peter blinked.

"Oh. Right, gotta work on that French!"

Matthew smiled. “That’s right; you read a whole sentence last night, didn’t you? Maybe you can show Arthur?” Smiling at the sheer genius of the idea, Peter scrambled over to get the book from Matthew's bedside table. Arthur, on the other hand, sent the Canadian a surprised look.

"He actually learned something?" He asked, genuinely curious. They boy had refused any of his offers to learn French, and was plain out rude whenever Arthur spoke the language. To hear Peter so excited and readily accepting of the once hated French shocked him. Peter made no indication that he had heard his brother, too busy scanning the book for his memorized line.

Matthew looked over Peter’s shoulder. “There it is,” he pointed to it, “ _La voix venait de la terre_ ,” he read out.  Peter beamed and repeated the line, his tongue stumbling and tripping over the pronunciation. Once finished, Peter looked up at Arthur, his face beaming with pride.

"Why I'd never," Arthur laughed," You actually taught the boy French. Perhaps only through repetition, but French none the less!"

“ _Oui_ ,” Matthew nodded, looking rather pleased with both Peter and himself as the door opened to reveal Francis carrying medicine in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other.

“Jaques was bringing the soup but I took it from him,” Francis explained with a smile as he brought the soup to Peter and gave the medicine to Arthur, “I doubt he would take that from me.”

"He won't take medicine from anyone," Arthur snorted. "Yet you do have a point." Peter watched Arthur as he drank the soup, weary blue eyes darting down to the bottle in the elder's hand. "Don't act like it's going to kill you," Arthur chuckled, rolling his eyes. Peter mumbled something unintelligible.

“Though it will probably taste horrible...” Francis sighed, “That cannot be helped however. Now I have to go out to supervise the crew. Mathieu, you have your own duties to attend to as well and I’m certain Arthur can care for his brother.”

“ _Oui Papa_ ,” Matthew nodded and followed Francis to the door. The Frenchman sent a smile over his shoulder at Arthur.

“If you need anything, I’m sure you’ll be able to find me.”

"Yes," Arthur replied, smiling back. Peter huffed, pouting with a mouthful of soup. Arthur ruffled the boy's hair. "Just drink your soup." Peter obeyed, slowly slipping the soup. When the boy finished, Arthur set the bowl aside.

"Now Peter," Arthur began, but Peter would have none of it. He crawled away, and Arthur leapt onto the boy. A small wrestling match ensued, with Arthur winning. Two gulps of medicine later found the two brothers snuggled under the blankets. Arthur read from the book, the French falling gracefully from his lips. Peter yawned, lulled into a peaceful state by the French. It was at the moment before Peter fell asleep that the door burst open to reveal Alfred breathing hard and looking worried. Matthew quickly ran in behind him. Both Englishmen jumped in surprise when the American threw the door open.

“I _told_ you Al, Peter is supposed to be sleeping! He’s sick!” Matthew whined, tugging on Alfred’s jacket to no avail.

"BLOODY HELL, ALFRED!" Arthur snapped. "Are you trying to give us a bleeding heart attack?" Peter huffed, his shock quickly melting away and turning into irritation. Alfred shrugged off the insults from the two Englishmen, walking over to Peter and putting a hand on his forehead.

"How ya feeling, Petey?" Alfred asked, smiling widely, but the worry was still there. His answer was a series of short coughs.

"Fine," Peter replied after the coughs had died away. Alfred's eyebrows knitted together, concern in his blue eyes. Alfred glanced up at Arthur, taking in the bags under his eyes.

"Hey Dad, you ok?" Alfred asked, letting Arthur ruffle his hair.

"I'm fine, lad," Arthur replied gently. "Just had a-"

"You had another nightmare?" Alfred whined. Arthur smiled affectionately as wide eyes stared up at him.

"Alfred, don't be so worried."

"I'm not gonna lose you," Alfred sniffed. "Just...get better, okay?"

Matthew looked down for a moment. “Al... you know that isn’t...” he sighed, “I’m sure they will get better faster if they knew you weren’t catching the cold too...”

"Lad, I'm not going anywhere. Go on, Peter needs rest and you have duties to attend to."

"I finished them already," Alfred lied. Arthur laughed and shook his head.

"Go on, son. Don't need you in any more trouble."

“Oh! That reminds me... er,” Matthew sighed, “Um, because we’ve... now Alfred too, but since we’ve been exposed to Peter’s illness we have wear scarves or stuff over our mouths when we leave this room, to try and contain the spread of it. Um, Francis is doing that too. Some other crew members might do that as well just keep themselves from catching it but um... yes, that’s the instructions. P-please don’t argue over this Al, it’s so we don’t have an entire ship full of sick sailors, we don’t have enough medicine for everyone.”

"Fine, fine," Alfred sighed. "Got a bandana or something Mattie?"

“Um, I hope so...” Matthew frowned and headed for his drawers, searching through them until he managed to find a dark blue handkerchief. “Is this okay?”

"It's cool Mattie," Alfred assured him. He took the dark fabric and tied it around his nose and mouth. "Ha! How do I look?"

"Utterly American," Arthur snorted. At this comment, Alfred laughed, his large smile covered by the fabric, but it shined in his eyes.

Matthew smiled softly at his brother before digging through the drawer, finding another, red handkerchief for himself. “Well, I’m going to tell Francis that Alfred’s here, since he might not know, um, so-“ At that moment however some kind of commotion was heard outside the door. Matthew curiously opened it, only to have Francis quickly blocking his view. The Frenchman looked wildly at the boy, then around the room at the other three men. He nodded quickly.

“Good, you’re all here. Now _stay_ here!” The door was shut quickly and the click of a lock was heard.

“H-he locked us in...?” Matthew stared at the door in surprise, “But... but why?” He pressed himself against the door to listen, quickly joined by Alfred. “I hear... yelling... in French obviously, um... Russians? I think...” Matthew’s eyes widened and he trembled, “ _Russian_ ships? SHIPS? W-why would there be more than one? W-why? M-must’ve heard wrong...”

Arthur was quick to join the two, elbowing Alfred when the taller male refused to make room. "They're saying bloody Russian ships alright," Arthur growled. Ripping away from the door, Arthur began moving furniture around, peeking behind them as if looking for something.

"Um?"

"Francis keeps a loaded pistol and a cutlass in here without your knowledge," Arthur quickly explained.

"You know this, how?" Peter inquired, eyebrows raised.

"I get up to use the loo sometimes," Arthur replied. He smiled triumphantly as he pulled a brand from beneath the heavy closet. "He talks in his sleep from time to time."

"Oh joy," Alfred snorted. He caught the gun Arthur tossed at him, the pistol having been retrieved from underneath Matthew's underwear drawer. "Oh~! Love the new toy~!" Alfred cooed, cocking the pistol at half and stowing it behind in his pants.

"Matthew, here with me and Peter," Arthur instructed. "Alfred, anything so much as rattles the door you shoot, here me?"

"Aye Captain!" Alfred crowed, aiming the pistol with a steady hand at the door.

Matthew hurried over to Arthur. “B-but what if Francis rattles the... well I guess he would knock...”

On the deck, Francis was sweating. Antonio and Gilbert had quickly managed to convey that they would be spreading out in hopes that they could try surrounding at least one of the ships, but as there were four... how were there _four_? But as there were four, and all looked prepared to attack, things were looking grim. In that moment Francis wished he’d built his boat more for speed than grand interiors. He had assumed that with two other ships in his fleet he could out man and out gun whoever approached them but this... and with them approaching at that speed they would overtake them quickly if they tried to run. At this rate, even if by some miracle they escaped with their lives they would have to fight first and they would suffer casualties... many by the looks of things as they didn’t have the power in numbers that they usually relied upon.

Not to mention the fear that was struck into his heart when the leading ship, which was making a beeline for his own with another close behind, drew near enough and he saw standing on the bow was a man. No... not just a man, but Ivan Braginski himself, smiling that horseshoe smile of his. Of the two remaining ships, one was heading for Gilbert’s boat and one for Antonio’s. Hopefully they would be alright on their own. It seemed that the Frenchman’s friendship with the Russian had finally soured. Francis knew Ivan Braginski was not a good friend to lose. But could there be a way to salvage things?

“IVAN!” Francis called across the gap. The man nodded his head, his expression never changing. “IS... IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO THAT WOULD MAKE YOU CALL THIS OFF?”

Back in the cabin, Matthew was beginning to hyperventilate. “I-if there’s more than one, th-then what if Ivan is going to attack? Then he’ll... then he’ll... he’ll probably try to capture all of us! G-Gilbert told me what he does to people who he gets on his ship... please... Arthur please I can’t... I can’t... when Gilbert came back he was... he was so... ARTHUR!” Matthew sobbed openly into Arthur’s shirt, fear overtaking him. Alfred shot a look over his shoulder. Arthur held the crying boy, trying to calm him down

"It's okay, Matthew, it's okay. That bastard won’t take any of you."

On deck, Francis watched with terror as Ivan tapped his chin and then grinned happily. His yell was loud, but still childlike, as though he was the kid next door calling to his neighbour. “I WONDER IF ALFRED CAN COME OVER TO PLAY?” That single question made time freeze in the small room. Three sets of eyed turned to stare at Alfred. The American had his eyes closed, as though trying to come to a conclusion.

"Alfred, please, don't."

The American looked up, blue eyes staring sadly. He pulled off the fabric and dropped it to the floor, displaying his sad smile. "Time for the Hero to do his thing." Arthur flung himself on Alfred, clutching tightly to the taller blonde.

"Absolutely not!" He cried. "I forbid it!"

Matthew’s eyes filled with more tears as he too clung to his brother. “Please, you can’t! F-Francis won’t give you up to him; he won’t put me through it so... so there’s no reason! They’ll beat them... without this, you can’t!” Alfred nudged Arthur away, horribly shunning the Englishman as he scooped up his brother in a hug.

"Mattie, the Hero would do anything to protect the ones he loves. And if giving myself up protects you all, I'd gladly give myself up."

Matthew shook his head and sobbed again, clinging tightly to Alfred. “I don’t... you don’t understand what he’ll do! He won’t... he won’t kill you right away... he doesn’t kill until he gets bored, that’s what Gilbert said... he... Alfred!” Matthew looked into his brother’s eyes, biting his lip before speaking again, “Gilbert was only with him for two weeks before Francis convinced Ivan to let him go, and that was so hard... and Gilbert was... even after just two weeks I... I didn’t recognise him! It took months to get him to talk about it at all and... and the things he said... you don’t want to do this! Alfred please...” He trailed off, and then paused, “I don’t... hear anything outside...” At this he, Alfred and Arthur hurried to listen at the door again. They heard two men speaking at a lower volume than before, one distinctly Francis, the other Ivan. He had boarded the ship.

“I cannot simply give you Alfred,” Francis’ voice said carefully, “He is Antonio’s.”

“Yet I’m almost positive he’s on this ship,” Ivan said happily, “Am I wrong?”

“No. He is visiting Peter, Arthur’s brother. He is ill.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear it! He is very cute, da? But it is better for me to take Alfred now before he catches it then.”

“Ivan he... he’s Mathieu’s...”

“He is your son’s what, Francis?”

“He is... he is my son’s b-best friend.”

“I see, then he will make new friends, da? “

“I still can’t! I have no authority, Antonio-“

“I doubt he wants a fight any more than you do, knowing what I will do if I find his Italians. Though you do pose an interesting point. I will take Alfred as a tribute from him then, but that does not cover you or Gilbert! If I receive one slave for each of you, I will call off attack. Oh...” Distant shouts were heard, “It seems my Gilbunny has launched a pre-emptive attack! He will not be spared then, I guess he’s going to lose his ship~”

“Gilbert!” Matthew gasped, “No...” Alfred shoved his brother off, straight into Arthur's arms.

"Dad, take care of Matthew!"

"ALFRED, NO!"

"THERE'S NO DEBATE!" Alfred yelled. "I DON'T WANT TO GO, BUT BY GOD I WILL NOT LET THAT SONNOVABITCH HARM THE ONES I CARE FOR!" The door was kicked open by the American, his blue eyes raging. Cocking his pistol, he raised it in defense, using everyone’s surprise to his advantage. "Ivan!" He barked, slowly walking forward. "I'm right here fucker, leave my Father alone." Arthur held the wailing Matthew, his eyes wide as tears streamed down his face.

"Alfred," Arthur whispered. "What are you playing at, lad?"

Ivan snorted, “And you come armed. Of course, you would not make things easy.” Ivan cocked his head to one side, now seeming to ignore Francis whose eyes darted frequently to Arthur’s face at the door. “If you come quietly like you should have done when I was beating you in that alley, I might reconsider taking more than one new slave for my ship, _da_?”

With one last glance at Arthur, Francis’ eyes finally turned to Alfred. “I cannot force you to,” Francis said quietly, “But I ask that you do. Please.” Alfred's eyes flickered over to Francis, amusement flashing in them.

"Funny how you'd easily give up your lover's 'son' to save your own," Alfred snorted. "But Matthew is my biological brother, and Peter is the younger brother I never got to raise. On top of that, Arthur's my father and my mother rolled into one. Francis, you take care of all of them, ya hear me? If you hurt any of them, I will personally give you worse than death." Alfred looked back to Ivan, his face serious and his eyes hard. Francis flinched at the words and yet still nodded.

"So if I go willingly, you'll leave these three ships and their crews and captains alone?" Alfred clarified. "As well as never so much as threatening Arthur and Peter Kirkland or Matthew?"

Ivan hummed, “Well, Gilbert already attacked so it’s too late to stop him from receiving casualties, but I’ll give him a sporting chance and not send another boat to help. I will leave the other two ships untouched. I cannot promise I’ll never threaten those three again, but I only will if they give me good reason, da? At any rate, if you refuse I might decide to just take you all and sink this ship.” Francis twitched at these words. He couldn’t help it. The Russian was a fierce enemy with one ship. With four, they would have no chance at all. Alfred tossed the gun, ignoring both the crying Arthur and Matthew. Alfred walked up to Ivan, hands on hips.

"Well then," Alfred sighed. "Let's go."

"Alfred," Arthur whimpered.

"I need to be a Hero," Alfred said over his shoulder, not making eye contact with either Matthew or Arthur. "I've played the good son, Dad, but you and I both knew this would happen one day. You need to go. I love ya Daddy, but you need to be happy. Hey, take care of Mattie for me." Arthur turned and buried his face in Matthew's shoulder. "Mattie, I'm so sorry I couldn't be here with you," Alfred continued. "I wanted to be with you, but...well. Didn't work out. I'm glad of the man you grew up to be, you probably wouldn't be who you are if you had been with me. Take care Mattie, I'm leaving Artie to you."

Alfred looked up at Ivan, sighing again. "Alright, I said my goodbyes, let's go."

Ivan grinned. “How cute. Of course!” The Russian raised a hand and two rather buff-looking men crossed the plank over to Francis’ ship. They each grabbed one of Alfred’s arms and brought the man across to the Russian ship where his hands were bound behind him and he was quickly brought through a door that led below deck. Ivan giggled and then turned back to Francis. “Well since those three are unavailable, who will I have to spare your ship then, Francis?”

Francis sputtered, “But, you said that Alfred-“

“I said maybe, and I decided I still want someone from you. Who can I have, then? And you know my tastes of course, though if you have nothing to the level of those three perhaps I’ll disregard my promise to the American. I, after all, owe him nothing.” Ivan’s smile never wavered as Francis bit his lip, clearly thinking very hard.

“I... I have a cook on this ship who would... who would probably please you...”

“Really? I would like to see him then, da?” Francis frowned but nodded to Claude, who headed off to fetch the cook.

Matthew shivered against Alfred, “No, Yao...” Arthur growled, releasing Matthew and taking a few tentative steps forward as a struggling Yao was brought onto deck.

"Let me go, aru!" Yao snapped, thrashing wildly in Claude's grip. "Claude, goddamn it, aru! Let me go!"

"Yao!" Arthur called, fear in his eyes. Yao looked at Arthur, amber locked with emerald.

"Arthur!" Yao screeched, his rage quickly melting to fear. "Arthur! If you ever find Kiku, please aru, please tell him I'm sorry!" Arthur nodded, knowing the Asian man's younger brother meant the same thing Peter meant to him.

Ivan’s eyes widened when he laid them upon the struggling Chinese man. He clapped in delight. “Oh, Francis! How did I never know you were hiding such a treasure? Da, I will take him gladly! Restrain him though, he looks thrash-y.”

Francis gave the word and Yao’s arms were bound tightly behind him. Ivan himself took up the man and carrying him over his shoulder headed back to his ship. Once onboard Ivan gave signal to his other ships to withdraw.

“You are in luck, da?” Ivan called to Francis, “I think Gilbunny will still have his ship!” The Russian pointed to the battling ships and sure enough it was the Russian one that was in retreat, slowly sinking as another Russian boat hurried to rescue the crewmembers who were escaping in the longboat. Loud whooping cheers were heard from the Germans as Ivan looked unconcerned.

“They were lucky that was the ship I only rented. I had my doubts that the captain would listen to my orders properly so I made sure his crew was less well stocked with good men. Silly man, he will be executed of course for disobeying me.” Ivan giggled, “So I will see you later, friend!” Ivan waved happily as his ship drew further away, Gilbert and Antonio’s ships working to close ranks with Francis, likely to discuss what had happened as the Russians sped off across the water, the crew in the longboat safely aboard. Francis shivered on the deck and turned to Arthur whose eyes were shining with tears. The Frenchman walked to him but would not meet his eyes.

 “ _Papa_!” Matthew cried out and launched himself at Francis. But he didn’t cling to him; he _punched_ him in the stomach. Granted it wasn’t an especially strong punch, but it still partially knocked the wind out of him.

“M-Mathieu!” Francis stared at the Canadian who was seething.

“HOW COULD YOU?” he screamed, “HOW COULD YOU LET HIM DO THAT? Y-YOU TOLD HIM TO! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WOULD DO THAT!” Matthew’s screams turned into sobs again and he fell to his knees, “How could you?”

Francis had no words as Gilbert and Antonio crossed to his ship, Gilbert hurrying to Matthew as the boy flew into his arms and began hysterically trying to convey what had happened.

Francis shared a look with Antonio. “ _Mon ami_ , I am sorry I lost your slave, but-“

“ _Mi amigo_ ,” the Spanish man said in a low voice, “I am not the one to apologize to, and you know it.”

Francis grimaced, but nodded and looked at Arthur who was staring at the rapidly shrinking Russian ships with a blank, faraway expression. He shivered, but laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I... I am truly sorry for this. I had many lives to think about, _mon cheri_.”

"I know," Arthur whispered, closing his eyes. "I know. You had everything on your shoulders, but..." Emerald eyes looked up, betrayal and loss reflected in them. "Right now, I don't want to think logically," Arthur whispered. "That was my son, Francis, not my brother or a friend, my _son_."

Francis’ lips tightened, his hand falling away from Arthur’s shoulder. His own eyes drifted to the horizon, and he wondered if he truly made the right decision.


	13. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are from Alfred and Yao's POVs. Just as a warning...
> 
> ALSO! ((Mei= Taiwan / Kaoru= Hong Kong / Khun= Thailand))

**Chapter 13: Hero**

Ivan Braginski could do nothing but grin as he entered the brig of his ship. This was where he kept all his new toys before he started to break them, though usually he only had one at a time. This time he had two, how fun this would be! Of course he knew where he had to start. Opening the door to the cell he viewed the Chinese man sitting on the floor with his hands still bound behind him. Ivan licked his lips at the sight, but quickly his gaze shifted to the American who was glaring at him fiercely as he dangled by his wrists from the ceiling.

“I decided to begin with training, _da_?” Ivan walked over to Alfred and poked him in the stomach. “Hmm, and maybe a diet for you.”

"Hey!" Alfred whined, his fury melting slightly to irritation. "I'm not fat, you commie bastard! Just heroically muscular." Yao rolled his eyes, unable to keep the small ghost of a smile off of his face when the younger male pouted.

The Russia laughed, “Muscular? Hmm, very doughy muscle you have here...” Ivan poked Alfred’s stomach again for emphasis. “But do not worry, that little gut won’t last long with me around! Also, you’ve given me an excellent chance to begin!” There was a sharp snap and pain exploded across Alfred’s thigh. He hissed as Ivan’s eyes danced merrily, a whip now in his hand that had previously been behind his back. “Lesson one; do not try to correct your master!”

"You motherfuc-AH!" Alfred's blue eyes blazed in defiance, glaring even as he was struck again.

Ivan’s grin only widened as he continued to strike. After ten strikes on his thighs, he grabbed Alfred’s body, declared he wanted to try something new, and spun him on his chains, winding him up until the tension began to make his wrists rub together and hurt. Then the Russian let go, letting Alfred spin wildly as he continued whipping, hitting his front, his back, but somehow the spinning itself was worse. Alfred was feeling sick and soon his breakfast painted the wall where Ivan had seen fit to jump away from the moment he noticed Alfred’s face turn green. He was lucky his shoulders didn’t dislocate.

“Good! I think that is enough of lesson one for now, but I have a feeling we might do some review later,” Ivan turned to look at Yao, “Did you learn the lesson too little Chinese cook? Or do I need to teach you as well?” Yao shook his head, alarm in his wide amber eyes. Instincts told him to keep his mouth shut, and his instincts had yet to fail him. As Ivan took a step toward him, the Asian's body began to shiver inadvertently.

"Hey comrade!" A voice yelled from above deck. "Yong Soo says he needs to talk to you." Yao's attention, like Ivan's had turned up to the voice. The man the voice belonged to was obscured by the shadows, but the voice was still familiar to Yao.

“Aw, but things were just getting good!” Ivan whined and pouted, but did leave the cell, shutting and locking it behind him. “This had better be important, _da_?” he grumbled as he headed off down the corridor. As soon as Ivan was gone, Yao scrambled over to Alfred.

"Alfred! Are you ok, aru?" Yao asked worriedly.

"Never better," Alfred burped, still green. Yao sighed, looking back up at the ceiling.

"I think my brothers are here," Yao commented.

"Think they'll bail us out?" Alfred inquired, some color returning to his skin. Yao shook his head. The two waited nearly half an hour before sounds were heard again coming down the corridor. The cell door was opened again and Ivan came back through it.

“Sorry for that little interruption! It seems one of my broken toys was being difficult for my crew member. They have of course been punished for it, and my crew member was punished for interrupting when I was busy! I run a tight ship, you see,” Ivan grinned, eyes shining, “No one disobeys, and no one is hurt. But if they do... of course I’m not completely heartless! I never kill any of my prisoners!” The Russian giggled, “Even when they beg me to!” Yao shivered, slinking away from Alfred.

"I don't mean to pry, aru," Yao said quietly, his voice quivering. Yao flinched as Ivan's eyes stared down at him. "But...Yong Soo. D-Did that man mean Im Yong Soo, aru?"

Ivan hummed, kneeling down next to Yao and grabbing his chin to look him dead in the eyes. “Maybe he did, _da_? What would that mean to you?”

"Just that Yong Soo is my younger brother, aru," Yao said, his voice shrinking to a whisper with each word. "I can only assume, if Yong Soo is here, then his twin Im Jin-Ho is here."

“Hmm, _da_ , they are here. Interesting! They never mentioned they had such a pretty older brother!” Ivan stroked Yao’s cheek with his gloved hand before drawing swiftly away and standing, his attention returning to Alfred. “So, I am very much looking forward to breaking in a new toy tonight! I would ask you to decide who I will play with first, but I already know that the pig will try to be the ‘hero’ as usual. Shame you have no back up to attack me from behind today, da?”

"I support Yao taking the blunt!" Alfred chirped brightly.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD, ARU!"

Alfred shrugged. "I took my portion of the Commie for the day. Plus, I ain't gonna let that fucker screw me!" Yao trembled, eyes wide and fearful.

"A-Are you serious, aru?" Yao whimpered. Alfred smiled brightly.

"Of course!"

Ivan looked at Alfred with open surprise for a moment, his mouth open. Then he began to laugh loudly. “Oh! _Da_ , I see, only heroic for the ones he loves. I suppose I _was_ going to let you choose... and you will get to see exactly what your choice has brought you. I’ll be breaking this little one in right here where you can watch and listen. Isn’t that lucky for you? Hopefully you don’t get too turned on; no one’s going to help you with it.” Ivan’s eyes sparkled as he looked happily at Yao. “A shame I’m not in a gentle mood, but I’ll try not to ruin you too much just yet.”

Yao stared up fearfully, backing away as Ivan moved closer. "N-No!"

Ivan grinned. “ _Da,_ ” he said simply as he continued to close in until Yao was backed against the wall. He pulled off a glove with his teeth, spitting it onto the floor and ran a hand through Yao’s hair. “Soft!” He declared and with his other hand began undoing the buttons on the Chinese man’s shirt. Tears gathered in Yao's eyes, but no tears fell.

" _Nǐ shì yīgè guàiwù_ , aru,” Yao whimpered. He said nothing more, turning his head shamefully away as the Russian moved in. Alfred blinked, surprised that the Asian had given up so quickly.

Ivan raised an eyebrow at the lack of struggling, but shrugged it off and continued until the shirt was open. He pushed it back and let it hang off Yao’s bound arms as he grabbed at Yao’s chest and pinched his nipples harshly, drawing a pained squeak from the man. Yao's fingers searched for a purchase to grip to. Finding none, he groaned. Ivan blinked curiously at him, pausing momentarily to watch Yao fold his legs and loop his arms under them, so that they were in front. Yao's bound arms were then looped around the amused Russian's shoulders. “Oh, you like this!” he giggled as he leaned into Yao’s neck and bit down, eliciting a yelp and sucking at the skin and drops of blood that were drawn. Yao sighed, arching as Ivan's lips moved against the juncture where his shoulder and neck met. By the time he drew away a very large, red mark was left on the Chinese man’s neck with a small amount of blood still drizzling down onto his chest.

“Red is a lovely colour on you,” Ivan whispered as his hand travelled to the Chinese man’s hips, tucking into his pants. He was jerked quickly and fell onto his back, dragged from the wall as Ivan pulled the trousers off with a well practiced motion.

Finally, the large Russia grabbed hold of Yao’s cock and gave it a skillful stroke, “So hard, I think you actually want this too!” Ivan shook his head, “I will admit, that is a first, da? But change can be nice. Unless of course you only think I will go easier on you if you co-operate?”

"No, I know that I won't get any pros, aru," Yao snorted, shivering when Ivan's hand stroked his cock. "And I don't like you. I just know from experience that it'd be easier to just go along, aru."

“Experience?” Ivan said curiously, “So you are not a virgin? Well, luckily I do not mind, da? But I suppose you don’t require much preparation then!” The Russian quickly shoved a dry finger deep inside Yao’s ass. Yao winced, making a face as the finger thrust in and out uncomfortably.

"How do you think I ended up on Francis's ship?" Yao gasped. "That man finds anything he considers beauty and he'll rip it from the world to steal it into his own."

“True~” The Russian said pleasantly, “That was always something we had in common. Of course he seems very involved with his own newest toy right now. It is fine; I can wait until he gets bored. He always does eventually. But look at these lovely things I have to play with until then? I assume you are somewhat broken in already then, which is good,” Ivan’s finger withdrew and he lined himself up with Yao’s entrance, “Although you’ll find you’ll have to make an adjustment a-anyway,” Ivan grunted as he edged the tip of himself inside, “T-tight, even if you have been with Francis... it has not been for a while, da?”

Yao quivered, his eyes widening when he felt the tip at his entrance. "Aru?"

“A-ah,” Ivan huffed and managed to slide himself inside of Yao. He was not in any way lubed, so it was excruciating as the man slowly filled the Asian man. He could swear something within him tear and he yelled as the Russian’s huge girth began to thrust deep inside. It was almost a relief when the blood began to flow and slicked the Asian’s insides. Yao groaned in pain, his nails digging into the other man's skin. He screamed obscenities in Mandarin, hissing and crying in pain. He was used to the motions, true, but being stretched to such a way was hell.

Finally after what seemed like an age, Ivan finally released inside of the Chinese man. He moaned loudly, but did not immediately withdraw. First he reached down and began to jerk off the Asian. Once he gasped, Ivan shoved his tongue deep inside Yao’s mouth, kissing him brutally and biting at his lips, drawing even more blood and leaving bruises. He only stopped when the Asian finally released into his hand, and then at last he drew away, detangled himself from the man’s arms and pulled his pants up over himself again.

“Hmm, that was nice, _da_?” Ivan smirked and ruffled Yao’s hair before retrieving the man’s pants and helping the man back into them as even if the man was unbound, he was too exhausted to be much help. Once his shirt was also back in place, Ivan stood and ruffled Yao’s hair one more time before looking at Alfred. “I was very gentle with him. I surprised myself how much so. I will not be so kind with you tomorrow.” Ivan patted Alfred’s cheek and laughed as he dodged the American trying to bite him. “I hope you sleep well! I’ll send Jin-Ho down with some bread or something. See you tomorrow~”

Alfred glared after the Russian. When he was gone, Alfred turned his eyes down, pityingly staring at the softly crying Asian. "You okay, dude?" Alfred asked, realizing how oxymoronic the question was when Yao raised his head to glare at him.

"Do I look fucking okay, aru?" Yao hissed. "I hope he rips you as well!"

Alfred snorted. "Well there went my compassion!"

"Good, _hyeogje_ doesn't need compassion," a voice snickered. Yao and Alfred looked up. A tall, pale man with dark brown hair smirked at them, his arms crossed. His long hair was in a braid that reached his waist. A wayward curl on the top of his head flew to the right. Behind him stood an identical man, though his hair was short, ear length, and his own wayward curl flew to the left. In the short haired man's hands was a tray holding a bowl of steaming soup, a loaf of bread, and a glass of water.

"Yong-Soo," Yao greeted, smiling at the short haired one, whose eyes were quickly filling with tears.

"Oh sure, missed you _hyeogje_!" the other, Jin-Ho, sneered sarcastically.

“ANIKI!” Yong Soo screamed and flung himself at the cage, sobbing, “I missed you so much! And now Ivan has claimed your breasts!” Yong Soo snivelled and wiped his eyes, “But your breasts will always really belong to me, da zee...” Yao hand flinched, staring longingly at the soup that had spilled across the  
floor. He sighed, and smiled up at Yong Soo, trying to calm him down in soothing Korean tones. Jin-Ho, however, was furious.

"Yong-Soo!" Jin-Ho snapped, glaring at his twin, who had jumped when his name was called. "Didn't I specifically say NOT to act this way when you saw Yao?" Yao's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as Yong-Soo bowed his head shamefully, muttering an apology. While Yong-Soo was always the first to apologize for his twin's misbehaviour, or even try to get Jin-Ho free from any punishment, Yao had never seen the energetic Korean so obedient to his twin.

Yong Soo bit his lip and drew away from the bars, looking shame faced. “I only... I only meant that... it has been a long time. That’s all... da zee.” Jin-Ho nodded, his face softening from its rage.

"That's one hell of a way to treat your brother," Alfred piped.

"Shut up," Jin-Ho snapped. He turned to Yong-Soo and ruffled his hair in an almost affectionate way. "I'm going above deck now," Jin-Ho said. "I expect you to feed Yao what little is left of that _Phu_ and to feed the other his food as well. Come back up when you’re done, got it?"

“Yes sir, da-zee!” Yong Soo saluted as his brother headed down the corridor and ascended the staircase. The boy coughed and picked up the bowl with some soggy noodles still on the bottom and the piece of bread. He opened the cell door and walked in looking hesitant and fell to his knees beside his brother, looking very upset. “Will you... will you be okay?” he asked softly, using a pair of chopsticks he drew from his pocket to fish some of the remaining noodles from the bowl and holding them toward Yao’s mouth.

" _Shì_ , aru," Yao replied dismissively. He slurped up the noodles, the small warmth that came with the familiar food pooled in his belly, calming the Chinese man down. Alfred had made a stupid comment about needing 'heroic substance' as well, so Yong-Soo angrily shoved the bread into the American's mouth. Yao ate most of the noodles that his younger brother fed him before deciding to touch upon the subject. "Yong-Soo," Yao said quietly, his eyes staring at anything but the younger Asian. "W-What happened to the others? To Mei, Kaoru, and Khun? W-When Francis took me away, I ordered Kiku to take everyone into the bamboo thicket, but...last I saw of Kiku, he had moved to his homeland."

Yong-soo shivered and sighed, “It... well, after you were taken four years ago we... we got by for a while together but... da zee... well, you were kind of what was holding us all together, you know? I know you and Kiku fought sometimes, but when you left he couldn’t really take care of the rest of us and Kaoru, Khun and Jin-Ho would challenge him a lot more than they ever did with you. Kiku got fed up and left us about six months later, and Khun disappeared one day at the docks about a year after that, probably shanghaied. That’s what happened to me and Jin-Ho too, not long after Khun. We were shanghaied by Captain Ivan. I don’t know what happened to Kaoru and Mei after that but Jin-Ho decided he liked being a pirate and you know I couldn’t abandon him Aniki! Oh, and I thought maybe if we were out on the sea we might find you someday, and we did! Er, not the best way though, da zee.”

Yao nodded, sighing softly. He smiled up at the sad Korean, reaching up to pinch the other's cheek even with his bound hands. "Little Yong-Soo," Yao cooed in a gentle way, "Sounds like you were a strong little _Zhànshì_ while I was gone, aru. I'm proud."

Yong-soo gulped and flung himself at his brother... squeezing his chest. “Y-YOUR BREASTS WILL ALWAYS BELONG TO ME, DA ZEE!”

"AIYAH!! YONG-SOO!!"

"DUDE GROSS!! INCEST!!"

Yong-Soo suddenly froze and backed off, “I-I hope Jin-Ho didn’t hear that... I-I have to go, da-zee.” Gulping, Yong-soo got to his feet. “I-I’ll visit later, I hope...” Yao blinked, confusion written across his face. Yong-Soo had never cared about whether or not he was caught groping Yao, or ever really listened to Jin-Ho when the other Korean ranted off about incest being gross. Yao snorted, remembering all the longing lust filled glances Jin-Ho had sent his twin despite being against incest. Hypocrite.

"I'll see you later Yong-Soo," Yao sighed, watching his younger sibling stand up. "Bye, aru." Yong-Soo nodded sadly and left, heading for the stairs and the deck above. Yao watched his brother leave, resting his head down against the floor.

"Hey Yao?" Said man looked up, amber eyes meeting ashamed blue eyes. "Um, thanks," Alfred muttered. "I really am grateful you're he-"

"Go to sleep aru." Within minutes, the Asian was asleep. Alfred soon dozed off as well.

\-- --

The next morning both awoke to the bars opening slightly and a man neither recognised marching in with more pieces of bread. He put one piece in Yao’s bound hands for him to feed himself and held the other piece in front of America’s lips for him to eat until it was gone. He would not speak to either of them, possibly not knowing English, and then left the two, shutting the door behind him. It was not that long after, however, that the door was opened again, this time with Ivan overshadowing them once more.

“Good morning, little ones! I hope you are all settled in now, _da_?”

"Not like we were given much to settle into," Alfred grumbled.

"Hush, aru," Yao advised, wincing as he struggled to sit up. "Don't agitate him, Alfred." The American snorted.

“Hmm, well if you want a better place to sleep, you will have to go through training first, da? Tell me, can you still feel your arms at all?” the Russia walked to Alfred and reached up to pinch his wrist. Alfred looked up, watching Ivan pinch and prod his arms before fully realizing he couldn't feel them.

"HOLY SHIT! I CAN'T FEEL MY ARMS!" Alfred screeched, blue eyes wide. Yao rolled his eyes.

"How did you not notice before, aru?"

Alfred stuck out his lower lip, trying to think. "I'm....not exactly sure."

Ivan giggled and drew away again. “Do not worry, if you could not feel them, then how would you know until someone touched them? But of course this means coming down will be painful for you, pins and needles, da? So I shall leave you there for the moment and take care of little Yao first.” Ivan grinned down at the Asian. “Your brother told me your name. It is cute! Little Yao-Yao! So we will begin with you. Since Francis apparently already broke you at least partially we can be through with training quickly. You know that as your new master you are to obey me, remain on this ship where you are meant to be unless told otherwise, and that any attempt at escape or murder will be met with swift and brutal punishment, _da_? Since you are new, you will share my bed with me until I am bored of you, and then you will sleep in the barracks unless I call on you. You were a cook on Francis’ ship, so you can help in my kitchen until we find something else you are good at; I have a couple of cooks already. I will show you your new home!” As cheerful as can be, the Russian quickly untied Yao’s hands, pulled him by the upper arms to his feet and placing a very large and controlling arm around the Chinese man’s shoulders he steered him out of the cell. He shot a playful look over his shoulder at the American.

“Since I am in no rush, you can hang from there for another day or so I think. But I won’t let you get too lonely; I’ll be down again for another lesson before nightfall! But why make little Yao-Yao suffer more than is needed when he has not angered me yet, right? Right!” Yao glanced over his shoulder to take a look at Alfred. The boy watched Yao being practically shoved away with wide eyes and an open mouth.

"Y-Yao."

The Asian only shook his head and turned away. A part of him wanted to comfort him as he knew Arthur would, but another part of him installed his own parenting skills; ignoring the frightened child will make him stronger. Yao let Ivan lead him away, faintly listening as Ivan cooed over his looks.

“So this is the deck!” Ivan gestured widely to the area, various men either mopping it or running back and forth looking busy with the exception of a small blonde boy who was merely holding onto his mop and staring out over the ocean. “Hmm, just a moment. If you know what is good for you, **_don’t move_**.” Ivan released Yao and went to the small boy and stood behind him. Yao could see his mouth move, but couldn’t hear what he said. Whatever it was, the small boy seemed to leap a foot in the air. He whirled around and paled considerably, shakes rattling his small body as he shook his head wildly from side to side.

“So little Raivis will continue then, _da_?”

“Y-yes sir!” the small boy nodded quickly and returned to mopping the deck.

“And you will report to the cells for punishment when you are finished, _da_?”

The boy winced. “Y-yes sir.”

“Good!” Ivan smiled and returned to Yao, again pulling him tight to his side. “I do not approve of loitering when there is work to do. It is a good idea to remember that. Now I’ll show you the kitchen! Just so you can meet the cooks of course, they’ll explain more about it later.” Yao nodded, glancing back at the boy. He turned back when Jin-Ho and Yong-Soo approached. Yong-Soo brightened, as did Yao.

"Will Yao be working in the kitchen with Yong-Soo, Captain?" Jin-Ho asked.

“Just for now, when we get Toris back he will take his position again and we’ll move him somewhere else, but for now he can stay there,” Ivan nodded, “So we are going to show him the kitchen, then the barracks and then my room! Those are the only places beside the deck and possibly the cells that Yao will have any reason to be after all.” Ivan giggled, “Of course he still needs permission to be in those places.”

"He's a good enough Medic," Jin-Ho admitted grudgingly. "Didn't one of the crew members grumble about not having a medic anymore since our last once committed suicide?" Yao's eyes widened.

Yong-Soo’s face fell slightly as Ivan pondered this. “This is true, perhaps that is a better idea if he has any talent for it. That would give him special privileges, such as his own cabin to keep medical supplies in and to treat people. Though he would still sleep with me until I’m satisfied, it is a good position.” Ivan hummed thoughtfully and rubbed his thumb along Yao’s side. “Well we’ll see how good you are at it after I’m through with Raivis today, _da_?” Yao nodded slowly, his stomach churning.

"Oh? What did the little one do?" Jin-Ho asked curiously.

“Daydreaming of freedom again, I think,” Ivan shrugged, “He is obedient for the most part, but I am working hard to beat his hope out of him. It’s gotten worse since little Toris got away, but I’m sure once he’s dragged back and punished Raivis’ little distractions will vanish as well. Luckily we got a lead at the last port about the Polish ship, _da_? Anyway, I suppose I’ll show Yao the medical cabin instead then~”

"Yeah," Jin-Ho nodded. "I'll take Yong-Soo back to the kitchens now."

Yao watched the two leave, blinking. "What's Jin-Ho's position?" Yao asked.

The Russian smiled. “He is my boatswain! He is very good at supervising the other crew members and reporting back to me. I used to have him as a powder monkey until he showed he knew how to do some repair jobs and he learned very quickly. You should be very proud to have such a clever brother! I have never had a better boatswain before.” As Ivan spoke he walked Yao back into the lower corridors of the ship, coming to a door that he had to unlock.

"I will probably never be proud of Jin-Ho," Yao muttered. Inside the room were shelves stocked with some medicines likely bought in port, as well as surgical tools. There was a single bed in the far corner and a table bolted to the center of the floor.

“If you require other medicines or anything you are to write it down and give me a list when we make port so I can have someone get them for you, _da_?”

Yao took a quick sweep around the room, ticking off medicine and herbs that were there. He reached the desk and took a slip of paper and opened an ink jar. He blinked and glanced back at Ivan. "I will still be staying in your room, aru?" Yao questioned.

Ivan nodded happily, “ _Da_ , for now you will until I decide otherwise. If you are not with me then you may sleep here, but that will not be for a while. Are you writing down what you need already?” Ivan’s eyes widened as Yao started listing things on the paper. “You barely even looked at anything! Yao-Yao is smart~” Ivan’s eyes were wide with child-like wonder as he looked over Yao’s shoulder as he wrote.

"Well you really don't have much to begin with, aru," Yao mumbled. "What _did_ your medic actually accomplish? Don't answer, aru," Yao grumbled, noting Ivan's mouth open to reply. "It was rhetorical."

“Hmph,” Ivan’s eyes narrowed dangerously and his voice took on a sharper edge, “You do not give orders here little one, I am the captain, not you.”

"True," Yao hummed and slipped away to continue taking inventory.

Ivan let out a low growl and followed the Chinese man, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around before slamming him back hard against the wall. “Do _not_ attempt to cute when I am being serious, da? It won’t end well for you, or perhaps...” Ivan’s tongue flicked out and over his lips, “You are eager to earn your first punishment, _da_?”

Yao's eyes widened, his lips remaining sealed. Perhaps he had taken things too far, but he had only been trying to start a somewhat civil conversation with the man. "I'm sorry, aru."

“ _Nyet_ , you’re not,” Ivan smirked suddenly, “You will be though.” With that Ivan dragged Yao, who was beginning to yelp and struggle, over to the medical table. After managing to push him down onto it, he grabbed some straps that were hanging off of it and began to strap the man down, face up. Then he ripped open the man’s shirt, buttons flying. “I do not think you properly know that I own you, so we have to have a lesson to correct that. Hmm...” the Russian headed to the cabinet holding the surgical tools for a moment before coming back with a sharp looking scalpel. “This will do nicely, _da_?” Yao's eyes widened fearfully, amber orbs locked fearfully on the scalpel. He pulled against the bonds, fearful whimpers leaving his throat.

"S-Stop!" he wailed as the scalpel got closer. "P-Please, aru! Stop!"

“Hush, little Yao, it will not be so bad,” Ivan chuckled as he lowered the sharp tool to Yao’s skin, cutting into it. Yao let out a loud yell as the Russian expertly manoeuvred the blade, his design covering Yao’s chest over his heart. It was excruciating to the point where Yao could not tell what the knife was carving, only the pain of it. But finally, finally Ivan drew away and laughed at Yao’s panting, groaning face. He cleaned the scalpel and put it away. The next thing he got, shockingly, was a bottle of vodka. “We cannot let this get infected _, da_? The alcohol will clean it! But it will sting.”

Yao screamed in agony as half of the vodka bottle was poured over the open wounds. He sobbed, trying and failing to get away. Tugging hopelessly against the bonds, Yao struggled in trying to cope with the pain on his chest. A part of him wanted to look down and see what was on his chest, but another squeamish part said to simply go to his happy place. Yao agreed with the latter option and blotted out as much pain as he could.

After finishing with the vodka, Ivan began dabbing at the Asian’s chest with a towel. “Now now, no need to cry little Yao, it’s all over for now. And it turned out so pretty! It’s a big, bright sunflower! That is my special symbol I put on all my favourite slaves, _da_? So they can never forget me, no matter what! Of course you’ll likely collect many other special scars from me, but I like to think this is the most important as it marks your very first lesson.” The Russian noticed the tears still running down Yao’s face and sighed, using the clean side of the bloody towel to wipe them away. “Now I will bandage you up and we can go see my room. Everything is fine now, shh,” Ivan hushed Yao as he grabbed some gauze and tape and began covering up the wound. Once done he unbound the Chinese man and scooped him off of the table, setting him on his feet and once again encircling his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders to lead him out.  Yao sniffed, trying to stop his tears. Furiously wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands, Yao let the other lead him out. Yao glanced down at his chest, eyes locked on the gauze covering the elegantly drawn sunflower which the Asian had to admit, from the glimpse he got of it, was really pretty. Yao shuddered, sniffing some more to stop his oncoming tears.

Finally Ivan reached a door that opened into a room roughly a third larger than Yao’s medical cabin. A king size bed took up a great deal of the space, draped in a deep crimson comforter. On the wall was a wooden decoration of carved sunflowers and a few sets of dark wooden drawers were around as well. In one corner was a matching desk and chair littered with papers. It seemed that Ivan did actually do work on this ship despite his odd personality and desire to dominate his slaves completely.

“It is nice, _da_?” Ivan said with a happy sigh and then roughly pushed Yao onto the mattress and pinned him to it, squeezing his wrists a little too hard and forcing his lips down on the Asian’s, his tongue flooding into the man’s mouth and seemed to fill it completely as the man ground down against him. Finally he drew back and grinned. “New toys are always so exciting. But for now I’m going to leave you here to take care of little Raivis. You won’t be too lonely by yourself, _da_?”

Yao nodded in fearful respect for the man. He nearly sighed in relief as Ivan pulled away. Yao shivered at the lustful look Ivan sent him, and actually did sigh in relief when the other left. “Better another than myself, aru,” Yao whispered, slowly falling into the silent pattern set by survival instincts.

\-- --

Ivan smiled happily when he strolled into the cell where Alfred still hung from the ceiling. He hadn’t received any food since breakfast, nor had he seen anyone since Yao had been taken away. In a strange way, he was relieved when Ivan finally came into the cell.

“ _Privyet_ little Alfred! I am sorry I took longer than I thought I would. I had to punish one of my younger ones for daydreaming. Yao-Yao is taking care of his fingers as we speak, I’m sure they will mend eventually and I could’ve done much worse. You see, I was saving myself for you,” his grin was malicious now, “Are you excited for your second lesson? Today you’re going to learn to call me ‘master’! I haven’t made Yao-Yao do that yet, but I imagine he should have some idea that this is how I wish to be referred to. We can skip the lesson if you willingly and sincerely call me ‘master’ right now. Will you?” Alfred's relief left, replaced by fury.

"Fuck no!" Alfred snarled. "Why the HELL would I call you Master!?"

“Because I **AM** your master, _da?”_ Ivan said, his smile never leaving as he moved close to Alfred, giving his clothed ass a hearty slap. “But I am glad you do not give in so easily, it makes this much more fun! Now tell me, have you ever heard of a torture device called ‘The Boot’? It’s a fun one, I usually use it on those who try to escape me but I’ve decided to be a little... pre-emptive this time.”

"Boot," Alfred muttered, his eyes closing."Sounds familiar....did Miguel mention it?"

“Possibly, there is a Spanish version of it. The one I have is called a Malay Boot, or a ‘foot press’, da? I will fetch it! But basically it goes over your foot and will crush the bones of your foot until you either call me master or your foot is a bloody pulp, whichever comes first.” The Russian left the cell for a short time and returned holding the wooden device with a crank at the side in his hand. Alfred tried to swinging his feet away, but the lack of proper food and exhaustion made him unable to do much as Ivan slipped it over his foot and tightened it. The underside was ribbed so that if the foot became sweaty it would not slide out. “Before I begin, I will mention that even if you last until this foot is crushed, I will only do the same to the other one.” Smiling pleasantly, Ivan began turn the crank on the Boot, pressing down harder on Alfred’s foot. At first it was only a pinch, but gradually he began to feel his bones grate and his eyes widened as he gasped in pain. Ivan paused. “When you can take no more, be sure to beg your master to stop very loud and clear so I may hear you, da?”

Alfred began panting, groans of pain leaving his mouth. The pain was unbearable, and was only growing worse. "Ngh, ah. A-Arthur." The American's thoughts flew to his father figure, his heartbeat racing faster  
and faster. Tears sprang in the American's eyes, Alfred could no longer feel his foot, but the pain was spreading up his leg. "A-Arthur!" Alfred wailed, tears streaming down his face as the pain suddenly came back at full force. "D-Daddy, Arthur help me!"

Ivan stopped the crank long enough to straighten up and slap Alfred hard across the face. “Your father is not here, and you will beg **ME** , your Master Ivan, to stop the pain and no one else!”

Alfred shook his head frantically as hysteria set in. "No! Daddy! Arthur please! Please, Arthur, HELP ME!! DADDY!"

Ivan stood back and folded his arms in irritation, watching the boy struggle. Honestly, the bones hadn’t even broken yet! Sure they would start to crack in one more turn, but what would he do when the real pain set in? Ridiculous. The Russian listened to the wailing a little longer before grabbing the boy by the throat in one hand and slapping him again, harder. “CALM DOWN!” he shouted into the boy’s face, choking off his words though not enough to stop all breathing. The Russian’s eyes narrowed. “You are being annoying, _da_? If you really want the pain to stop, you will call me master and beg me to release your foot. This is my last warning. If you do not I WILL begin to break the bones in your foot. I sincerely hope this is getting through that thick skull of yours.” Ivan flicked Alfred’s forehead for emphasis.

Alfred sobbed, still shaking his head. With one final sob, Alfred gasped out the word, so faintly and quietly, it was almost non-existent. "M-Master..."

Ivan’s eyebrow rose and he released the boy’s neck. “What was that? You will need to speak louder for relief, little piglet.”

"I CALLED YOU MY FUCKING MASTER, BASTARD!!" Alfred shrieked, falling back into a sobbing mess. It wasn't the physical pain anymore, but emotional. It had hit him hard, that for the first time since he was a child, he was all alone. That was what was making the so-called 'Hero' a weeping mess.

Ivan sighed. “You just could not say it nicely, could you? Oh well, such a shame. Guess you won’t be walking for a while, _da_? Or maybe never.” Ivan knelt again and turned the crank. The sound of bone cracking was audible.

Alfred's head tossed back, his mouth open wide as an ear splitting; bloodcurdling scream of pain left the American. After almost a minute of this continued sound, it died away quickly. Alfred let out loud groans and cries of pain, clenching and unclenching his fingers, his body tense and slicked with sweat as the fire from his foot raged throughout his body. Alfred wailed, sucked in more air and opened his mouth to let another scream vocalize his pain and agony.

Ivan’s face brightened at the wordless screams. “Ah, like music,” he sighed blissfully, “Will you beg me nicely yet? At the moment your foot may heal in time, another turn you will likely walk funny forever, and another few turns I doubt you’ll walk again unless with a cane and this useless leg dragging behind you. Though if you want that, I have no problem of course, _da_? Your screams are very lovely to hear right now so I have no trouble with hearing more.”

Eventually, Alfred's screams lessened in volume until his screams where nothing more than sobs. Blue eyes looked up, fear struck deep in the baby blue irises, but nothing more. "Please," Alfred sobbed. "Please."

Ivan hummed and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Please what? I don’t know who you are asking or what you’re asking, Alfred, if you do not tell me. Who are you begging and what are you begging for?”

Alfred closed his eyes, hanging his head. "Please, please stop this M-Master." Shamed and humiliated, Alfred only wanted to be released from the chains and be given the chance to recover.

“There! Not so hard, _da_?” Ivan bent again and at last began to loosen the device. When it was slipped of Alfred’s foot, the thing hung limp and bulged in places it shouldn’t, and the pain still remained. “This should help remind you of who you belong to, for now at least. And this does make me feel better about your friend’s sneak attack in the alley too, so let’s let bygones be bygones for now, _da_? We should get your foot wrapped up; Yao-Yao should have finished with Raivis by now.” The Russian swiftly hooked an arm around Alfred’s knees and lifted them, reaching up to unlock the chains from Alfred’s wrists and quickly caught his back to support him in his arms. Pins and needles shot through Alfred’s arms as blood suddenly was able to rush through them, and a quick look could tell the wrists themselves were rubbed raw and bled in places.

“Poor little one, see what your big head has done to you?” Ivan tsked as he carried Alfred bridal-style out of the cell since he obviously wasn’t going to be able to walk. Alfred stayed quiet, allowing the other to carry him. He paid no heed to his surroundings, not that he could've seen them even if he tried; everything was a blur without his glasses. Alfred slowly came back to reality as he was laid on something soft and nimble fingers worked at stripping him of what little clothes he had left.

"D-Dad?" Alfred whimpered. "Matt?"

"He's half delirious, aru." Yao looked up from undressing Alfred, his eyes looking up to meet Ivan's. "I'll do all that I can," Yao said, watching Ivan's expectant face. "He's young and a fast healer, so nothing should be too damaged in the after effects." Yao looked back down to Alfred, brushing away the American's bangs. "He's most likely got a fever too, aru," Yao groaned, feeling the hot skin beneath his fingertips. "I haven't any herbs for it, nor any medicine."

Ivan frowned. “Well, can’t you just put a wet cloth on his head or something? Surely it can’t be that serious, I do this all the time... though I guess usually I have a medic keeping this place stocked too... oh well,” Ivan shrugged and a smile returned to his face as his eyes gazed at Alfred’s rousing face, “This one is a fighter, even if he seems unused to pain. He won’t be overcome by a fever even if it lasts for a while. Though I guess I won’t be able to break him in tonight like I’d hoped. But I still have my Yao-Yao, so that’s fine, _da_?” The Russian reached over to grope the Asian’s arse, squeezing it playfully. Yao only winced slightly, already absorbed in cleaning Alfred's wounds and bandaging them tightly. Ivan watched, daring Yao to speak out as he continuously got in the way. Yao, however, didn't fall for the bait, keeping his grumblings to himself. When Alfred was all patched up and sleeping fitfully, Yao collapsed on the floor near Ivan in exhaustion. "Done, aru!" Yao sighed. "He'll be needing food when he wakes up and his  
bandages changed and washed tomorrow."

Ivan chuckled slightly and bent down next to Yao, putting a hand to the smaller man’s forehead and pushing up the hair that had fallen into his face. “You look tired too; I’ll carry you to bed! But don’t fall asleep yet!” The Russian quickly scooped the Asian into his arms as he had done with Alfred earlier and headed out the door, locking the room behind him.

“I do not think he will get far on that foot, but it is better safe than sorry, da? Oh, I should probably get you the spare key to that room too,” Ivan said thoughtfully as they headed to his own cabin again.  Yao only nodded drowsily, rubbing sleep away. Alfred would be fine, for now, he had his own safety to worry about.

Once inside the Russian’s cabin, Yao was deposited onto the bed before Ivan went to lock his door securely. Returning to the bed, he pushed the Asian, who was now beginning to tremble, back onto the mattress and nuzzled into the crook of his neck, leaving soft kisses there. These trailed up to the man’s ear and Yao could feel hot breath as Ivan whispered, “Such a pretty doll I have, _da_?” Yao held his breath, his heartbeat racing like a jackrabbit's. The ache from his ass that had faded away began to ache again. Yao let the other molest him, sighing.

Ivan finally drew away from Yao’s face and pulled Yao’s shirt off of his shoulders. It had been hanging loose since he had ripped it open earlier and the Russian smiled and traced his fingers over the gauze that covered the mark he left there. “I cannot wait until we take off the bandages, I’m certain it will scar beautifully,” Ivan sighed as he tossed Yao’s shirt aside and slipped his fingers into the Chinese man’s pants, gently pulling them off. That was something Yao noticed, Ivan was being much gentler than he had been the night before. Once the Asian was fully naked Ivan also began to strip, though his scarf remained on even when all else hit the floor. The scarf tickled Yao’s chest as the Russian loomed over him again, this time with a grin.

“Do not worry little Yao; I’ve had my fill of pain for the day. I will be careful with you,” Ivan’s big hands began to rub at the sides of the Asian’s head, the action actually rather soothing though Yao knew it was the sort of petting one would do with a dog or cat. The massaging hands drifted down to his sides and lower, to his hips, moving inward until the Russian was giving his manhood a very sensual and strong hand job. “It is good, _da_?” Yao nodded, breathing airily and subconsciously bucking into Ivan's hands. A soft moan escaped his lips and Yao's eyes fluttered closed.

Ivan ran his thumb over the tip of Yao’s growing erection and then brought it to his mouth to taste the pre-cum that had formed there. Giving a smirk, he released Yao and was pleased to hear a short whine at the loss of the pleasurable hands. “Come over here,” Ivan ordered, grabbing Yao’s arms and pulling him upright. He then pointed to his own erection. “If you want it to be slick, you have to do that yourself, da?”

"Aru?" Yao breathed, still dazed.

Ivan sighed in irritation. “I am telling you to suck on my penis until it is wet enough to fuck you with. I don’t waste money on lube, _da_? So do it,” he said this quite bluntly.

"Oh." Yao leaned down and began to suck expertly, swirling his tongue around the tip.

Ivan hissed and a hand immediately entangled itself in Yao’s hair, pushing him down further on his cock. “Ah, y-you are good at this, _da_? Francis did train you well...” After about a minute Yao felt his hair being pulled and his mouth came off of Ivan’s cock. He was pushed back on the bed again and his legs were lifted up onto Ivan’s shoulders. Ivan licked his own finger and traced Yao’s hole a moment before pushing inside slowly, thrusting in and out not quite long enough before adding a second and scissoring them. Again, before Yao could adjust fully the third finger was added and thrust with the other two. The aim seemed to be more in widening the gap than in finding the prostate, but still they seemed to brush against it by chance. Yao bit his lips, wincing as the fingers stretched more and more.

At last Ivan withdrew his fingers and smiled down at the sweating man beneath him before he aligned his erection with Yao’s widened hole. Yao winced as the large member entered him, moving in until it was fully sheathed, Yao finally could appreciate just how big Ivan really was. The slow pace Ivan began let him feel every inch moving inside him and the spit did not make it much more comfortable than the night before. He could swear something tore again, likely one of the same areas as last night since he probably hadn’t healed completely yet and he let out a gasp of pain as he was slowly fucked.

"A-Aiyah." Yao, despite the pain, pushed back against Ivan, panting. The Russian seemed to take this action as a cue to speed up and so he did, his thrusts were still rhythmic but built in power and quickness to the point where the man was grunting and Yao felt as though he was being driven into the mattress below him.  Yao moaned, his hips snapping back as pleasured moans slipped out of his throat. Garbled Mandarin slipped out of his lips

“Good... Yao-Yao... AH!” Ivan gasped and let out a long moan as he emptied himself inside of Yao. The rush of this however did not quite send Yao over and so even when Ivan drew out the Asian was left with his erection aching and dripping. Ivan was breathing hard, but his eyes remained on Yao as he sank onto the bed beside him. “F-finish... yourself... da?” he muttered, licking at his lips as he eyes focused on Yao’s weeping cock.

Yao whined when at the loss of pleasure, nodding and wrapping his hand around his weeping cock when instructed to. His fingers pumped fast, hips thrusting forward into his own hand. Yao moaned softly as he dug his nail into his slit. "Ah, ah." With a cry, Yao arched and released in his hand. He slumped back down on the bed, panting.

“Beautiful,” Ivan breathed and leaned over to kiss Yao’s flushed cheek, spreading a wide hand over the sunflower scar before crawling up the bed to pull back the blankets. “I will get the lamps!” Ivan said happily and got off the bed to extinguish them, plunging the room into blackness. Still he found his way back to the bed and Yao felt hands run over him again in the dark before they grasped his arm and pulled him up to the opening in the blankets. After some blind shuffling, Yao found himself held a little too tightly in the Russian’s arms, spooning with him as Ivan’s nose buried into the hair on the back of his head.

“Goodnight Yao-Yao, my pretty doll,” the large man sighed. Yao could feel his lips turn upward against his hair.

Yao hummed, "Goodnight, aru." Yao's thoughts flew back to Francis's ship, a small pang of homesickness going through his heart. He closed his eyes and decided to simply fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH. 13 TRANSLATIONS
> 
> Nǐ shì yīgè guàiwù - (Mandarin) You’re a monster
> 
> hyeogje - (Korean) brother
> 
> Phu - (Pronounced F-uh; type of noodles) 
> 
> Shì- (Mandarin) yes
> 
> Zhànshì - (Mandarin) warrior


	14. Dark Angels

**Chapter 14: Dark Angels**

_"Alfred, lad, will you please get down from there?" Alfred looked down at the Briton who had taken him in. In the man's arms was a sleeping boy. The captain's brother if Alfred remembered correctly. The boy grabbed a loose rope and slid down to the deck. Once safely on the floorboards, Alfred looked up at Arthur expectantly. "Don't go up there."_

_"Why?" Alfred challenged. Arthur's eyes darkened._

_"Because if you fall over, I'm leaving you to drown. Good luck finding your brother when you’re dead." Alfred pouted, but followed the man as he walked away. Arthur lowered a hand, offering a hand to Alfred. The boy smiled and slipped his hand into the other's. Sleepy child eyes opened and looked down at Alfred. The American melted and smiled at the boy. Arthur's sigh made Alfred look at the man and blink. Before the boy knew what was happening, he was scooped into Arthur's arms and was held side by side next to the other younger Briton. Alfred looked up at Arthur, whose eyes were rested on the sea surrounding them as the crew bustled around them. Alfred buried his face into Arthur's chest to hide his tears._

\-----

Alfred's eyes opened, a small gasp escaping his lips. "Dad."

“Not quite, _da_?” The voice made the American’s attention snap to the wall across the room where Ivan was leaning, looking amused. “Yao-Yao, is his fever gone?” Ivan asked the Chinese man who was checking through the meagre medical supplies nearby. Yao looked up from his inventory, noting the American was awake.

" _Zǎo ān_ Alfred," Yao greeted, placing the items down and picking up fresh wrappings before going over to inspect the American. "How are you feeling, aru?"

"Shit-tastic," Alfred grumbled, flinching away as Yao's hand rested against his forehead.

"Well, your fever's mostly gone," Yao hummed. "Any pain, aru?"

"Can't feel my leg and my heart aches," Alfred offered timidly.

"There's no cure for longing," Yao replied, tapping the boy's foot. Alfred winced, making Yao a little more sympathetic. "I'm sorry, aru."

Ivan suddenly straightened and clapped his hands giddily. “Oh! I almost forgot! You have to eat breakfast, _da_?” Ivan ran to a table that held a plate Alfred assumed simply held more stale bread. He was surprised to find that, while bread was included, it had a thin layer of jam on it and an apple. At any rate it looked like a far more appetizing meal than what he had been receiving. “I thought you deserved a little extra since you did so well learning your first lesson, and to show that I am not mad at you for the alley incident anymore. We can start over fresh now _, da_?” The Russian set the plate on Alfred’s lap and looked at him expectantly.

Alfred gave Ivan an uncertain look. He glanced at Yao, who was watching him just as expectantly, and looked down at his plate of food. His reached up and began fiddling with the stem of the apple, at war with himself. He didn't want to follow or listen to Ivan, he didn't want to be forgiven. But his instincts told him to shut up and go along should he wish to live another day. Alfred sighed, figuring he had really nothing but pride and dignity now, and not even that. He was a boy, a simple boy now, and there would be no more Arthur to protect him. Alfred looked up at Ivan, his face sad and reluctant.

"O-Okay," Alfred said softly, then bowed his head.

Ivan snorted and looked amused again. “You act as though I’m giving you liver and Brussels sprouts. Just eat it. You’ll need energy for later~” the Russian giggled, “Anyway, I’ll leave you with Yao-Yao right now, I have to do... captain-y things...” the Russian shrugged, giggled again like a schoolboy, and ruffled Yao’s hair on the way to the door. “I’ll probably be back this afternoon sometime; I’ll send someone in with lunch. And if anyone has any... accidents... today, you’ll of course see to them as well!” He wiggled his fingers in a wave goodbye and vanished through it, leaving the two other men alone.  Alfred watched as Yao went back to counting his inventory. After a few minutes of staring, Yao glanced at him.

"Aru?"

"Um, I never really apologized properly, did I?" Alfred muttered. "Um, well...I'm sorry Yao." The Asian waved it off.

"What's done is done, aru," Yao sighed. Alfred smiled and began to eat. Alfred watched Yao work. Simply taking inventory, Yao was content to let the younger watch him. Raivis came back in for his bandages to be switched. Alfred winced as they boy left.

"He's a kid." Alfred muttered. "Probably Peter's age. How..."

"Because he can," Yao replied, unhooking his shirt. "The man has no care, aru." Alfred looked back at the Asian, who was unwrapping his own wraps.

"What happened to you?"

"Ivan."

Alfred sighed again. Yao pulled away the last bandage to reveal that elegantly etched into his skin was the nearly healed sunflower scar. Alfred gasped. "It's...pretty," Alfred whispered. "H-He did that?" Yao shook his head and pulled his shirt back on. The day passed and the two went on their ways, Alfred being lazy and Yao counting his few supplies.

Around noon or a little past, there was a knock on the door. It was opened to reveal Yong-Soo, holding two bowls of steamed noodles and smiling meekly. “A-Aniki! I brought lunch for you da zee!” his eyes widened slightly at the mark on Yao’s chest and looked away, coughing slightly. “Uh, how... how are you doing da zee?”

"Yong-Soo! _Ni-hao_ , aru!" Yao said brightly. "I'm good, ah! Thanks for the noodles, aru!" The older Asian walked over to him, smiling brightly.

“You’re welcome!” Yong-Soo handed the bowls to his brother and bit his lip, glancing back at the hallway for a moment. As soon as Yao handed Alfred his bowl, he was suddenly grabbed from behind into a tight hug. “Aniki I-I’m...” he shivered, suddenly, and his eyes widen as he looked at the door. Jin-Ho stood there tapping his foot and Yong-Soo quickly let go of Yao. “I-I’m sorry, da zee,” he whispered, playing with his fingers uncomfortably. Yao looked from the furious Jin-Ho to the frightened Yong-Soo with suspicious eyes.

"Yong-Soo, what's going on, aru?" Yao asked.

"Nothing!" Jin-Ho snapped. "Yong-Soo, come!" Yao grabbed his brother's arm, glaring at Jin-Ho.

"What the hell is going on?" Yao hissed. Alfred watched with worried interest, struggling to stand up.

Yong-Soo looked from his arm up to Yao’s face with large eyes and then quickly looked at Jin-Ho who glared back. Yong-Soo whimpered slightly and pulled out of Yao’s grip and went to stand beside his twin, looking at the floor now. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again as Jin-Ho’s hand replaced Yao’s, harshly grabbing Yong-Soo’s wrist to the point where the boy winced.

"Jin-Ho!" Yao snapped angrily. The Korean glared pointedly back.

"We're not children anymore Yao," Jin-Ho snapped back. "You can't order us."

"I will NOT lose Yong-Soo to you, aru!"

"How blind are you, old man?!" Jin-Ho snickered. The Korean pulled his twin close and kissed him bruisingly. Alfred tripped to the floor and Yao's mouth fell open, but neither Korean paid any head as Jin-Ho invaded Yong-Soo's mouth with his tongue. Yong-Soo moaned into his twin’s mouth, his eyes falling half lidded as Jin-Ho deepened the kiss and plundered his mouth, until the two finally broke apart and he gasped for air, blushing furiously and giving Yao a quick, embarrassed glance.

“So um... that’s what’s going on...” he said softly. Yao shook his head, his eyes falling closed.

"D-Do you want this, aru?" Yao asked quietly. Jin-Ho scowled.

"Of course he-"

"I wasn't asking you!" Yao snapped. "I was asking Yong-Soo!" Jin-Ho scowled and stroked his brother's hair. Yao turned his eyes back to Yong-Soo. "Is this what you want, aru?" Yao repeated.

Yong-Soo’s breathing hitched, but he immediately nodded. “Y-yes, yes of course I do. I... I love Jin-Ho da zee.” He closed his eyes and shook ever so slightly as Jin-Ho placed a gentler kiss on his temple. “I do love him... I do, I only have him...”

Yao hummed, still unsure. "If you’re so sure," Yao muttered. "Then I'll respect that."

Yong-Soo nodded again, leaning against Jin-Ho and looking back at the floor. “So, um, the Captain said he’ll be around soon so we should probably, um, leave... please can we go, da zee?” Yong-Soo looked up at Jin-Ho.

"Yes, yes," Jin-Ho agreed. "Let's go before Ivan gets here." Jin-Ho let his twin wave goodbye before whisking him away. Yao slumped next to Alfred on the floor, sighing.

"Awkward?" Alfred guessed

"Wouldn't you feel the same if your younger siblings were screwing, aru?" Yao asked. Alfred began eating slowly, looking up curiously to watch Yao go back to taking inventory.

"Hey, Yao?" Alfred muttered.

At that moment, the door opened again to reveal Ivan, looking excited. “All my work is done! Hooray!” he cheered childishly as he entered the room, surprising the two men within. Then he smiled predatorily at Alfred who was still obviously stuck on the bed. “So now I can play _da_? Don’t worry Yao-Yao, I won’t kick you out of your room, you might be needed! But I’ll be taking Alfred back to my room! Oh...” he eyed the bowl in Alfred’s hands, “Well, when you’re done eating I suppose...” he kicked at the ground, looking a bit disappointed. Alfred swallowed and continued eating, Yao glancing at Alfred sympathetically. When the American finished, he set the plate aside and struggled to his feet. Yao rushed over to hold him down.

"Don't go walking just yet, aru!" Yao snapped. "You still need to heal!"

“ _Da_ , there is no need to walk on a broken foot!” Ivan giggled and then in a fluid motion scooped Alfred into his arms. The quick movement did jerk the American’s damaged foot however, making him let out an involuntary scream of pain. “Not so loud _da_? You’re right next to my ear,” Ivan winced.

"Well that HURT!" Alfred wailed, grinding his teeth to bear with the spikes of pain shooting up his leg. "Owie!"

Ivan huffed. “I’ll hurt you more if you don’t _be quiet_.” Ivan began heading for the door and then shot Yao a lopsided smirk. “Get the door for us, _da_?” Yao obeyed, quickening his step and swinging the door open for the two. Alfred pouted at the Asian as they crossed the threshold. Yao only shrugged in response.

"Be careful with his leg, aru!" Yao reminded.

“ _Da_!” Ivan called back and headed down the hall. Alfred noted that the few men they passed either saluted Ivan in respect and stepped aside, or else flattened themselves to the wall and shook in fear. Whatever case it was, Ivan ignored them until he reached his own cabin when he ordered one shaking boy to open the door for him. Once done, the boy ran off so fast he might’ve vanished into thin air. The Russian dumped Alfred on the bed, minding the leg enough to prevent anything worse than some discomfort, and quickly locked the door. He grinned at Alfred.

“So, excited to become one with me, comrade?”

"No," Alfred hissed through clenched teeth. His heart rate was escalating and every fiber of his fight reawakening. "Stay away from me!"

“Oh. Now is that any way to speak to your master?” Ivan chuckled darkly as he approached the bed. “I don’t mind a bit of a struggle on the first time. In fact, it turns me on.” At this point, Ivan had climbed halfway onto the bed and ground his crotch down on Alfred’s thigh to prove his point- he was getting hard. He looked directly into Alfred’s eyes so that he could see them clearly, even though his glasses were lost to him, “Though if you draw blood from me in struggle, I will draw it in kind. That is fair, da?”

"Sick fuck," Alfred snarled and punched him, smirking triumphantly when his fist connected with Ivan's jaw.

Ivan recoiled harshly and whined, rubbing where the fist had struck. “Ow, that hurt!” His face twisted into a dark expression, his grin wide despite the bleeding at the corner of his mouth, “I will have to return the favour as I said _da_?” And with that he in his advantageous position grabbed Alfred’s right arm and with a swift motion the American didn’t realise was possible for a human being, snapped his wrist. Alfred screamed, struggling to pull away without causing pain to himself.

"FUCK!" The American raised his other hand and slapped Ivan as hard as he could.

Ivan growled, grabbed Alfred’s left hand and squeezed it to the point the bones felt like they were grating together, maybe Alfred yelp again. The Russian smiled. “Tell me, Alfred, which is your favourite finger on this hand? I’ll be nice and not break that one, da?” Alfred growled and flipped him off.

Ivan hummed, grabbed the upraised finger and snapped that backwards as well so it hung at a bad angle and pain shot up through Alfred’s arm. “Hmm, I hope that wasn’t your favourite, going to pick one or shall I just break them all?” Ivan still kept the America’s hand tight in his grasp. Alfred screeched, tugging furiously to release his hands as he sobbed tears of pain.

"Fuck you! Fuck you!" Alfred wailed, the pain spreading to every corner of his body. "Fuck!" Seeds of hysteria where beginning to take root again, increasing Alfred's frantic struggling despite the pain.

Ivan giggled. “You know, if you actually begged me nicely as you did yesterday, maybe I would stop breaking your fingers. I guess that won’t be happening~” Ivan grabbed at Alfred’s pinky finger and pried it open from his fist, breaking that backwards as well. “Don’t worry though; these will definitely heal as long as Yao wraps them as soon as we’re done!” Alfred screamed in pain and frustration, shaking his head.

"FUCK!!” he wailed. He bit his lips, ripping away at the skin there as he tried to keep the building hysteria under control. The last thing he needed was to cry for Arthur or Matthew.

Ivan sighed and shook his head. “You really don’t wish to co-operate, do you? I would stop, but I don’t give mercy unless it is begged of me. Otherwise, how can you take my threats seriously?” Alfred’s ring finger was easily snapped as well. “Only two left and we can start the real fun! Unless you want to beg me to move on to the main event, da?”

Alfred screamed once more, and then furiously crashed his lips against Ivan's. 'Rather be raped than this,' Alfred thought, wincing as pain spiked up his injured hand. Ivan froze in shock and Alfred felt him grow much harder against his leg. The Russian growled, released Alfred’s hand and dug his arms beneath the man’s back, lifting him up slightly as his tongue invaded his captive’s mouth. He explored every inch and moaned loudly as he ground himself firmly against Alfred’s leg.  Alfred let the other do as he pleased, making no moves to either encourage or discourage the larger man. Alfred pulled his arms away from the other, bringing them to his chest where he cradled his broken fingers and wrist.

At last Ivan drew away from Alfred’s mouth, panting with his eyes glazed in lust. “You are being quiet now, da? This is good, it means you are learning,” he lowered his face to Alfred’s neck and began to lick at the point where the neck met the shoulder. This dissolved into sucking and then, suddenly, he bit down hard enough to draw blood. Alfred cried out as Ivan drew back again, licking the blood from his lips. “A mark, to show that you are mine.” Alfred opened his mouth to retort, but chomped down on his lips at the last minute. He badly wanted to say something insulting, but he knew that would probably warrant him another broken bone. Smothering the insults on his tongue, Alfred opted to glaring maliciously at the other.

“Aw, don’t make such a face! It is not so bad. If you had accepted things immediately as Yao-Yao had you wouldn’t have had to endure the pain in your hands. Oh well, you will learn. Or you will break completely... it has happened before,” Ivan shrugged and began to unbutton Alfred’s shirt, forcing it open and slightly down his shoulders. He traced the nubs that were growing hard once exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. “These are cute~” Ivan cooed and leaned in to lap at one as he pinched the other. This did not last long before Ivan began working on loosening Alfred’s pants. It was as the large man lifted his lower half in one arm to remove his pants that it hit Alfred just how strong Ivan really must be. Alfred was not a small man in the loosest sense, but Ivan had been carrying him around with ease since his foot was broken. While he had managed to slam Ivan’s head against the wall in that alley, that was only from a large burst of adrenaline. Why had he tried to fight this man in that alley? If he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t be here now; he’d either be on Antonio’s ship with Miguel or on Francis’ ship with his family.

These thoughts were interrupted harshly as a finger coated only in spit was shoved up inside of him. “Wow, you’re really tight!” Ivan marvelled, “Antonio didn’t use you as a whore at all? He must REALLY like that little Italian boy... aw, and I wanted a turn with the Italians!” Ivan pouted. Alfred hissed in pain, wiggling at the foreign invader in his ass. Yes, Alfred would admit he was a bit of a man-whore, and yes, he had experimented with men before, but never had he thought of bottoming. He had always, _always,_ been the top. His mind reeling, Alfred squirmed as Ivan curled his finger, and then sharply added another one. Alfred hissed again as prickles of pain shot up from his ass, bringing forth tears in his eyes. Ivan began scissoring, making Alfred yelp and cry out in pain.

“Oh it’s not that bad,” Ivan tutted as he squeezed in his third finger and thrust them more, actively looking for the spot that would melt his captive and make the ring of muscle loosen enough to be properly entered and claimed by the Russian. Alfred cried out, more surprised about the pleasure that shot through his body rather than the actual pleasure itself. He stared worriedly up at Ivan as a smirk spread across the Russian's face.

“There it is,” Ivan whispered as he thrust his fingers a few more times, earning some more cries and squeaks, and finally a moan. The Russia drew his fingers back and adjusted his pants to reveal his manhood, despite keeping his clothes on. Evidently he had no intention of exposing himself to Alfred. He finally pushed Alfred’s legs up and over his shoulders, positioning himself at the boy’s entrance. “It helps to relax, little one.”

Alfred shook his head, his eyes widening when he felt something prod at his opening. "O-Oh, oh god no!"

“ _Da!_ ” Ivan said happily as the tip bypassed the tight ring of muscle, the girth of it stretching the hole far past what the fingers had done and the lack of lubrication sent Alfred’s entire body into spasms of pain. He screamed loudly, but Ivan did not heed his pleading until he was all the way inside. There he paused, breathing hard. “Ah, see? You are very tight, j-just let me catch my breath... oh a-and if you bleed, that is normal, _da_?”

Alfred chewed restlessly at his lips, trying hard to stop the groans of pain. Every small movement Ivan made, Alfred felt. Foreign feelings of being filled made Alfred squirm and whine softly. At last, Ivan clutched his hips and slowly, achingly, pulled out to the hilt. Alfred's eyes widened again as his sluggish mind comprehended what the other was about to do. "N-No, don't!" Ivan snapped his hips forward, ignoring the American and drawing a scream from Alfred.

“Good, good! Your screams are lovely, little one!” Ivan laughed as he pulled out again and thrust back in. Each thrust was long, hard, and were getting progressively faster. A man of less stamina would be exhausted just from that, but Ivan was only sweating and that may have simply been from the pleasure he was receiving. Alfred was receiving little pleasure, though the blood was beginning to make the cock slide more easily within him. It took a while before Ivan found Alfred’s prostate again, but when he heard the pain filled scream taper into a moan, he began making more effort to hit that spot. When it seemed that he had grown tired of the position, still within the American he lowered the legs from his shoulders and grabbed Alfred behind the back, lifting and adjusting them both so that Alfred was in his lap and being bounced up and down. From here it seemed the already too long cock was reaching even deeper, but it also was flush with his prostate and continued to strike it with every bounce.

Alfred screamed again, but in pleasure this time. He had long since abandoned his pride to the animalistic lust. He wrapped his arms around Ivan's neck while still minding his broken wrist and fingers. Alfred's head rolled forward, vocalizing pleasure and pain. Tears rolled down his cheeks, Alfred sobbed as his emotions spiraled out of control from lust to hate and want to disgust.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ivan’s bucking seemed to grow more frantic until with one last upward thrust he released with a loud groan. Alfred felt the unpleasant sensation of liquid shooting up his ass and when he was lifted off the larger man’s cock, still hard, he felt the man’s spunk drizzling out of his now-gaping hole. But Ivan wasn’t quite through with him yet.

“You have done well, for your first time,” Ivan hummed, “That should be rewarded! I’ll help you cum, _da_?” Before Alfred could comment, his member was engulfed by Ivan’s mouth. He groaned and bucked up, Ivan not seeming to mind as he sucked Alfred to completion not long after. Alfred was left a panting, sobbing mess by the end of it all. Ivan put himself back into his pants properly and hummed again as he looked at Alfred’s sorry state and his clothes littering the floor of his room. After a moment he went to a drawer and pulled out some linen. Throwing it over Alfred, he unlocked and opened his door, went back to scoop up Alfred into his arms and left again. The walk back to the medic cabin was humiliating beyond words for the American as various crewmembers saw him bruised and broken, tears still staining his cheeks as Ivan brought him back to the medical cabin. Yao opened the door when Ivan kicked it a couple of times and Alfred was laid on the bed.

“We got a little rough, _da_?” Ivan giggled as Yao looked at Alfred’s hands in horror. “Make sure he’s bound up properly, it’d be bad if they set funny!”

Yao gaped at the young boy, his own eyes prickling with tears. He quietly went to fetch all the necessary supplies. Yao returned with his arms full of wraps, cloths, and alcohol along with some soothing herbs to calm Alfred down. Yao took one more look at Alfred before bursting into silent tears.

" _Wǒ hěn bàoqiàn_ ," Yao whispered gently. Alfred looked up at Yao with wide frightened sad eyes and Yao had to look away. He started first with Alfred's wrist, readjusting it so it would heal and mend itself properly."Brace yourself, aru," Yao warned quietly. The Asian took Alfred's hand that held the broken fingers, and as gently as possible, began readjusting them so they could mend properly. Alfred howled and wailed as his hands alit with fiery pain, and both Yao and Ivan had to hold the wiggling Alfred down. Once the fingers where corrected and bandaged, Yao turned his attention down south. Yao bit his lip at the ravaged hole and wet a cloth with the alcohol. Alfred began sobbing again as Yao cleaned him out. Yao crushed and kneaded the herbs into a paste and curled his fingers into Alfred's ass, spreading the paste over the rips and tears inside. Once satisfied that Alfred was patched and on his way to recovery, Yao began to stroke the boy's hair, whispering soft words in Mandarin to soothe the still crying American.

Ivan looked pleased at Yao’s work and patted him on the head. “Hopefully you won’t have to mend so many bones in the future, _da_? If everyone simply gave in as they are supposed to, I wouldn’t have to do such things. That’s why you’re so good Yao-Yao! I’ve barely had to punish you at all!” Ivan laughed happily and abruptly pulled Yao away from the American into a hug from behind. “Um, I think it will be dinner soon, so I need to go talk to the crew a bit, so you can stay here for now. I’ll send someone with food, and when you notice the sun has almost set out this little window, you are to report to my cabin for the night.” Ivan pressed a kiss into Yao’s hair and then released him. “Is that understood?”  Yao nodded, unable to find his voice. “Good!” Ivan pulled Yao in again to nuzzle the side of his face, leaving a kiss there before waltzing over to the door, giving another of his little waves before vanishing through it. Alfred and Yao were left alone again. Yao waited a while with Alfred, trying to comfort the boy. When Alfred was moderately calm, Yao stood up.

"I'll be back later, okay?" Yao said. "I'm going to go eat, aru." Alfred nodded. Yao checked him over once and walked out the door. He glanced out into the hall, finding no one in it. Closing the door behind him, Yao ventured down the empty hallway. "Now, where is the kitchen, aru?" Yao muttered to himself. Being on Francis's ship had given him a general idea of where the kitchens should be, but then again, that was only one ship. So Yao found himself wandering, meeting a couple of the crew members. Yao saw Raivis and greeted him, the Latvian boy had smiled gratefully, timidly, but rushed away. Yao finally stopped, hearing two familiar voices seeping through the wood. He followed the sounds, going down one more level and stopping before a wooden door. Jin-Ho and Yong-Soo, Yao now recognized the voices, and it seemed like Yong-Soo was crying.

“Please, please brother, I didn’t,” Yong-Soo’s voice was cracked and frantic, “I swear I didn’t say anything to Yao, just what you heard! So please, don’t right now, I need to make dinner, I know I belong to you! I know!” A loud slap was heard through the door and Yong-Soo’s voice quieted, replaced by soft, disjointed sobs.

"Filthy liar! If you know you belong to me then why are you so eager to get away?" Jin-Ho's voice was dark and filled with hate. "Ivan gave you to ME, and goddamn it Yong-Soo! Stop crying!" Another series of short rapid slaps were heard, accompanied by Yong-Soo’s cries and pleas. Yao rushed to the door, jiggling the handle. Cursing when it proved to be locked, Yao took a step back and kicked the door in.

At the loud crack that sounded as the lock ripped the wood of the doorframe apart, Yong-Soo’s head jolted up from his cringe at the feet of his brother, half undressed with his shirt partially torn open revealing many bright hickeys and dark bruises along his collar bone and chest. Jin-Ho’s manhood was in full view and with Yong-Soo’s face so near it, it was obvious what Jin-Ho was trying to get him to do. The crying twin’s eyes widened at the sight of his oldest brother and his face brightened only a moment before he was hit again by Jin-Ho and sent sprawling to the ground as his aggressor angrily stuffed himself back into his pants. “P-please,” Yong-Soo whispered from the floor, “I just... I just want to make dinner now...”

"Quiet!" Jin-Ho barked, seething with fury. He rounded on Yao, who trembled with rage and his amber eyes burned with hatred.

"Jin-Ho," Yao hissed, "How dare you, how DARE you, aru?!"

"Dare what Yao?" Jin-Ho spat. The older Asian stormed over to Jin-Ho, who was shorter than Yao. Jin-Ho brought his arms up to block, but Yao's round kick had hit its target. Jin-Ho fell and Yao towered over him. Jin-Ho kicked out his legs, but Yao had skirted a safe distance away. The Korean leapt to his feet and launched himself at Yao. Said Chinese man easily blocked the barrage of punches Jin-Ho threw, further infuriating the Korean. Yao shoved Jin-Ho back and kicked him in the chest. When Jin-Ho's back met the wooden floor, Yao's foot met Jin-Ho's chest. "You bastard!"

"Same to you, aru!"

“STOP! STOP DA-ZEE!” Yong-Soo suddenly ran from where he had been watching in horror and slammed into Yao, pushing him off of his twin. “Please, don’t fight da-zee, i-it’s not worth it! I shouldn’t have cried, I shouldn’t have, please don’t hurt each other for that da zee...” Yong-Soo clung to Yao’s clothes, his voice wavering harshly. Yao's eyes widened in shock then filled with worry. He grabbed the younger by his shoulders and shook him.

"Yong-Soo, can't you see what he's doing to you?!" Yao pleaded. "Open your eyes, aru! He's practically brainwashed you to please him! Snap out of it Yong-Soo!" Jin-Ho scowled, but watched with interest.

Yong-Soo shook his head hard, refusing to meet Yao’s gaze, “No, that’s not true, Jin-Ho... Jin-Ho only loves me... he wants me to be safe and I’m only safe with him, w-we’ve only ever had each other because you...” Yong-Soo’s hand dropped from Yao’s clothes and he looked down at the floor before finishing hollowly, “You loved Kiku best... you always loved him best and he... and he never even loved you back.” Yao's world stopped as those words left Yong-Soo's lips.

"T-That's not true, aru," Yao denied feebly. "I...No, I loved you all. Equally, aru!"

"Don't even try bull shitting us!" Jin-Ho snapped. "You even shunned Kaoru for Kiku! And Kaoru was your blood brother!" Yao shook his head, his hands loosening their grip on Yong-Soo's shoulders.

"I...I-"

"You fed us, yes. You did pay attention to each one of us, but you always spent more time with Kiku than with anyone else!" Jin-Ho snapped. "We were so lonely when you and Kiku went off together. Mei, Yong-Soo, and Kaoru waited faithfully for you, but Khun and I knew you would only bring more harm to the younger ones. After you left, we tormented your precious Kiku restlessly, blaming him for your disappearance. It was only a matter of time, and without you, that makeshift family imploded on itself."  
Yao sank to the floor, his eyes filled with dripping tears. Jin-Ho towered over his brother; hatred masked a hint of the betrayal and pain he felt. "Yong-Soo was all I had, and I was all Yong-Soo had. After all, our beloved brother was too busy with the small stolen Japanese boy to play with the Korean twins he found near death in a dumpster as infants," Jin-Ho spat.

"No!" Yao wailed. "I didn't steal Kiku! He-He...He came to me, aru! Just as Khun did after I fished him out of the sea, or when I saved Mei from the brothels. They came to me, aru!"

“But...” Yong-Soo’s voice was quiet, but still managed to but through Yao’s protests, “But then, why didn’t he ‘come’ to you dirty like the rest of us were? Why was he clean and in nice clothes already when you brought him home? Why did... why did he never thank you like the rest of us did? If he was there because you saved him like us, why wasn’t he ever grateful to you like we were? Why did you love him... why did you love him when he never cared about you!” Yong-Soo’s voice was rising now, and his eyes now looked at Yao furiously, “WHY WERE WE NOT GOOD ENOUGH? WHY WAS HE SPECIAL IF HE DIDN’T COME FROM A BETTER PLACE THAN WE DID?!” Yao sobbed, unable to answer the question. Guilt and realization was taking over.

"I'm so sorry," Yao choked. "I'm so sorry aru!"

Jin-Ho snorted, "It's too late for that Yao."

Yong-Soo breathed hard and then bit his lip turning to stand by Jin-Ho again, or rather, behind him. “Make him go away,” Yong-Soo said quietly, “Make him go away, da-zee. I’ll do it without fighting if you make him go away.”

Yao stood up, his eyes filled with tears, but still hard. "I know I'm to blame," Yao said quietly. "I know that I've done things I shouldn't have, but I never did them intentionally! I'm sorry, aru. I need you both to know that I did love you, I do. And I'm so sorry." Yao walked out, his shoulders shaking. Jin-Ho closed the door as best as he could.

"You should've been there," Jin-Ho said quietly, only for Yao to hear. The older Asian walked off, sobbing quietly. He didn't know where he was going, so long as it was far away from the past he had left and the children he destroyed.

\-- --

About twenty minutes after Yao had left the medic cabin; there was a knock on the door. Alfred, being currently bedridden, wasn’t able to open it but luckily it was unlocked so after some rapping the door swung open to reveal Ivan looking irritated.

“When your master knocks on the door, it is expected...” he trailed off and looked around the room curiously. “Ah? Where is Yao-Yao?” he looked at Alfred on the bed expectantly. Alfred shrugged, avoiding any and every eye contact with the Russian. Ivan huffed and walked up to the bed, poking Alfred’s cheek and sighing, “Well, I will just have to wait for him to come back so I can punish him for wandering off without permission. At least you can’t do that, even if you wanted to, da?” Ivan giggled.

"Why are you doing this?" Alfred whispered in a broken voice. "Why?"

“Why?” Ivan chuckled darkly and knelt by Alfred’s bedside, tracing a lazy circle on the boy’s chest with his finger. “Well there are obvious reasons of course. For you, you insulted me, so I needed revenge. And of course you are very cute, and Yao-Yao is pretty. I do enjoy playing with pretty toys.” Ivan sighed and seemed to consider Alfred for a moment. The boy was looking at him as though he expected more of answer.

“Of course there’s power involved too, I like having power over others, da? That way I am respected. But I also let my slaves know that I love them, _da_? That is why I gave Yao his lovely scar. Scars help show love, even if it is tough love. I believe in tough love,” the Russian nodded to himself, “So I am working hard to break you of your arrogance so that you may work for me here and learn to love me, or at least never leave me.” Ivan paused and Alfred dared a glance at the man’s eyes. He was shocked to find they held a faint glimmer of tears. “I don’t like it when people leave me. It hurts. So I don’t let them leave, because I love them too much.” Ivan sighed and ran a hand through Alfred’s hair and smiled again. “You will learn to accept it eventually. You would be surprised that many of my slaves grow quite used to this arrangement, there’s only a few that keep trying to escape. Luckily those usually seem to be the ones I brand the most, so they’re easy to put bounties on, da?”

"But why this way?" Alfred whispered, his trademark childlike curiosity budding. "Why can't you just...." Alfred looked away, his eyes locking onto the ceiling. "You're not the only one who's afraid to lose people."

“I know,” Ivan said quietly, “I know, no one likes to lose people, da? But I can only keep people if they lose everyone else,” he sighed, “It is just the way of things, it has always been this way. I was raised to understand that discipline is love and that you must take the things you want or you will not get them at all. Nothing comes through fate. I earned everything I’ve ever had, and I love every prize that I have gained from that.” The Russian looked at Alfred with some kind of twisted fondness in his eyes. “Surely that is not wrong, da?”

"Then you’re not keeping people," Alfred softly replied. "You’re keeping puppets in a dark twisted world that, I believe, will swallow your loved ones whole. You’re just making yourself so much lonelier. It's such a godless way to love, to live. Isn't it tiring? Aren't you tired?"

The Russian cocked his head to one side slightly before giving a small, wry smile, his eyes half-lidded. “Da, very much so. But no one stays with me willingly except my sisters and they are... weird...” Ivan shuddered suddenly. “Very weird. And it’s not the same thing anyway. Besides, I don’t know how to love any other way. This is how my step-father showed his love to me, and so, I also show this love until I meet the same fate as my step-father.” A far-away look came to Ivan’s eyes.

"And his fate I assume is ending up six-feet under at the hands of his loved ones?" Alfred muttered.

Ivan chuckled darkly. “Oh, we buried him much deeper than that.” He shrugged. “But that is in the past, though he, as I do, left marks to remember him by. His own immortality.” Speaking thus, the Russian suddenly tore the scarf from his neck and Alfred gasped. The neck was nothing but a series of ridges and white scars, some seeming to forming letters in some language the American didn’t know. After he was certain Alfred at seen the ruin that was his neck, he carefully re-wound the scarf, hiding it all, and grinned at the boy’s shaken appearance. “No not worry, I never leave anything... permanent, on necks.” Ivan’s finger reached out to trace the hickey plainly visible on the crook of Alfred’s neck. Alfred was silent for a long time. Then he spoke up.

"I'm going to tell you a story," Alfred spoke. "Okay?" When Ivan nodded, Alfred swallowed.

"I knew an Angel once," Alfred said quietly. "A hero of a sort, who saved a tainted boy. This boy had put something in his parents' food that made them grow very sick and die. The boy had a younger brother, who was being neglected by the parents. In a rage, the older boy committed his act, and his brother never knew. Years later, the boy lost his brother to Fate. The boy accidentally climbed onto the Angel’s chariot in search of his brother. The Angel saw the boy, and kept him as a companion. The boy found out that a Storm had tormented the Angel. The Angel bore the scars from his trial, but he did not seek revenge. The boy could tell by the rain in the Angel's heart than he was very sad. The boy then grew a love for the Angel and was determined to stop the rain. The Angel only laughed and smiled. The longer the boy was with the Angel, the more the boy learned. Soon, the boy became a small light, a sort of half Angel. The boy had found Fate and his brother, now as a wise Angel." Alfred looked up at Ivan, vulnerable before the Russian who merely stared at him in return. "I'm not religious by any means, and Arthur never pushed it on me, but Ivan...I pray you find an Angel too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH. 14 TRANSLATIONS
> 
> Zǎo ān - (Mandarin) good morning
> 
> Wǒ hěn bàoqiàn - (Mandarin) I'm so sorry


	15. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other micronations appear in this chapter.
> 
> Marcello - Seborga (Italian micro)
> 
> Emily - Wy (Australian micro)
> 
> Liam - Ladonia (Swedish virtual micro)
> 
> Florian - Kugelmugel (Austrian micro)

**Chapter 15: Distraction**

Francis’ crew had been in port in Spain for about three days now, marking nearly three weeks since the day Alfred was taken from them by Ivan. After Arthur had finally stopped staring at the horizon, a feat that had taken hours in the hot sun, he did not speak a word to anyone save for Peter for six days. That had been torment for the Frenchman who wanted to find any way to make things up to the Brit, though of course he knew in his heart there was nothing. No words of comfort could be expressed by him. Even if Arthur knew that Francis was not truly to blame, taking things out on him even a little filled some of the void in his heart and he milked it for all it was worth. He would send Francis hateful glances and he had taken to spending his nights with Matthew and Peter, an act that the Frenchman could not blame him for.

The only reason Arthur had not spoken to Matthew either during those six days was because Matthew had also refused to speak to anyone except for Peter. Suddenly Peter, who was feeling ignored before, now had two people who seemed to be relying on him very heavily as they held him, and rocked him, and sobbed into him. Never at the same time, no, somehow had both begun taking turns in standing out on the deck, staring at the sea.

Still, when Francis’ thoughts turned to the younger Englishman he had to smile, if only briefly. All the crying and dependence shocked him into trying to be a rock for the two who had been his own foundation. It seemed the boy was finally learning what it was to take care of other people and had grasped the idea that one could not rely on a single person alone. After those six days of silent treatment, Francis was surprised when a knock came at his cabin door to reveal Peter, looking solemn and telling him that he believed the Frenchman should try talking to Arthur and Matthew, because they weren’t going to try to make amends and Francis was the only one who would be able to fix anything.

The boy had in fact raced to Francis. Francis's simple question of 'why' made Peter break down. Peter burst into tears and explained that Matthew had admitted between his sobs that he was trying to starve himself to death and, from how thin Arthur felt when he held him, Peter believed Arthur was doing the same.  That had gotten Francis’ attention and he had carried the sobbing boy back to where the three blondes shared a cabin. Matthew and Arthur had rampaged at the sight of Peter crying in Francis's arms. After some shouting, some punches thrown between all three of the older blondes and finally a very long talk, Arthur and Matthew were coaxed into a tense meal and gradually had come back to the world of the waking.

Arthur had returned to Francis’ room in the end, to which Francis was quite grateful as the bed had seemed incredibly cold without him. It seemed by the end of the second week that Arthur had chosen to forgive Francis’ involvement and would allow the Frenchman to hold him when he broke down as he did with frequency, or when he woke from a horrid dream, which was now a nightly occurrence. Peter smiled at the sight of watching his brother speaking French quietly for only Francis to hear, absolute trust mending itself the more Arthur stayed with Frenchman.

But Matthew, though he had begun eating again, still did not appear to have forgiven Francis in the slightest. He had believed with all his heart that Francis would protect Alfred with the same fever he had with matters concerning his own surrogate son but that belief had been betrayed. Matthew would speak to Francis, but the words were sharp and curt and he outright refused to call him ‘ _Papa_ ’ any longer.

Peter was glad of the progress with Arthur, and focused more of his time on Matthew. They spoke late at night together, Matthew sharing his betrayal and the longing he had felt for his older brother during their years of separation, and Peter telling the other of how sad Alfred would get at times, and how Alfred would insist sleeping with the stuffed white polar bear was heroic. They had reached the conclusion that a stay with Gilbert would better help Matthew than staying on Francis's ship to fester in hate.

It was only after they reached the Spanish port however that Matthew dropped the bombshell. He came to Francis and told him, did not ask but told him that he would be moving to Gilbert’s ship once they left port. Francis wanted to refuse it. He wanted to tell Matthew that he was being a child about this, and that the past could not be changed by doing this. He wanted to grab Matthew into his arms and never let go, only murmuring to him that everything would be okay and yet all he did at the news was nod, defeated. What could he say? Seeing Francis's face after Matthew told him his decision made Peter sick with guilt.

Now Francis sat in the room he was sharing with Arthur and Peter in the Inn. While Matthew was moving to Gilbert’s ship, Peter was staying with Arthur because no one was still holding up the silly charade that Peter was Matthew’s slave. Arthur sat beside him on the bed while Peter lay on the floor, looking at his book of fairy tales. Even after three weeks the mood remained melancholy.

Finally Francis cleared his throat, deciding now was as good a time as any to reveal the little news he had. “There is a festival today,” he said in a voice that held a slightly raspy edge from lack of proper use. “In the town square. Dancing and food. I think we should go.” Peter glanced up at Francis, eyes bright with hope.

"A festival?" Arthur inquired, his voice monotone but his eyes beginning to shine with curiosity.

"Can we go, Arthur?" Peter asked pleadingly. Perhaps the festivity would help Arthur become a bit more social. The older Englishman sighed, shrugging and crumbling under two pairs of similar blue eyes blinking at him.

"Well, I don't see why not," Arthur replied, smiling slightly when Peter cheered. "Mostly since I've never been to a festival."

"Sure does sound fun!" Peter agreed.

Francis let a smile sneak across his own face. “ _Bon, bon_. It is merely a local version of the major festival spots that are occurring in the more important Spanish cities, but Spanish festivals are usually fun no matter where you are. Big, colourful costumes, lots of food and drink, much music, and of course the ladies of Spain are...” Francis trailed off at Arthur’s look and coughed, “Well in the past they have been quite nice, though this year of course I have a far more lovely date, _non_?” Francis took Arthur’s hand and kissed the fingers, his eyes asking forgiveness for the little slip of the tongue.

"Don't push it, Froggie," Arthur mumbled, looking away from the Frenchman.

Peter frowned then quickly smiled brightly and said, “So Francis! You said bright colors, right? Maybe we should buy Artie something that shows how dazzling he is!" Peter ignored Arthur's small glare, the boy determined to help Francis mend their shaky relationship.

“Ah, _oui_!” Francis nodded in encouragement, “Green for your eyes, yellow for your hair, you will look stunning, _lapin_!” the Frenchman grinned. “We will buy something this morning then, the shops are closing at noon for the festivities. _Se dépêcher!_ ” Francis stood from the bed and began to go through his own clothes, pulling out a bright blue outfit covered in frills and a red cape. It looked so... so... _French_ , it was almost disgusting. That did not change the fact that it looked stunning on Francis however once he got it on. He checked the time. “Ah! Only two hours until noon? How is it so late? Hurry now!” Francis ushered the two Englishmen toward the door. Arthur, against the thought of new clothing yet again, whined.

"But we got some at the last port!" Arthur huffed childishly. However, he hurried with Francis, his determined-pout in place. Peter followed behind the two, deciding it was better for the two men to lightly bicker like they once did.

“But those were almost formal clothes!” Francis said, smirking but still giving an eye roll. “These are _party_ clothes! The point is to stand out! Be flashy! It would’ve been better if I had thought of this idea days ago... but we will simply have to make due!” And so it was that Arthur found himself in a shop in Spain, completely at a loss as a woman nattered on in Spanish, which he did not know, as she measured him, brought out various colours to try against him and eventually began parading him out in front of Francis in various costumes, each more flamboyant than the last. Francis had gotten himself an overly-wide red hat with a giant plume of peacock feathers that he saw in the window of another shop on the way to this one, but Peter hadn’t even begun to get into any sort of new clothes yet. Francis sighed and shook his head as Arthur spun around in a bright yellow robe so flowing it resembled a dress with green triangles printed along the bottom and sleeves.

“ _Non, non_ ,” the Frenchman shook his head as the Spanish woman grew more frustrated. Francis spoke something in Spanish to the woman and Arthur was tugged behind the dressing-screen again, stripped of his clothes and had yet another outfit shoved into his arms. The woman was likely upset because she wanted to close the shop in fifteen minutes and she knew Peter still had to be fitted.

"Look at me!" Heads turned to the boy, who had been rummaging in the back when no one was looking. The Spanish woman had shooed him away multiple times, but still he went back. Now he was dressed in an oversized frilly electric blue robe that reached his mid-thigh with an oversized bow tied on the back. White shorts peeked out from under the robe, and his knee high stockings and boots were in place.

"Peter, what the hell?" Arthur paled.

"I look like a girl!" Peter smiled broadly.

"Take that off and stop fooling around!" Arthur snapped as Peter snickered. Arthur huffed and changed, slipping on the tight green robe-like shirt that ended a little bellow his waistline, wincing as the thin yellow coat, in his opinion, clashed horribly with the green. Slipping on the white knee length shorts Arthur snorted before going out to present the outfit.

Francis bit his lip and seemed to whine a little when he looked at Arthur’s outfit and then glanced at the clock. “Well... it is not perfect, but it will have to do. It is the best I’ve seen you in anyway. Oh, and we’ll also get what Peter was trying on, he looked _super mignon_!” Francis smiled and spoke quickly to the Spanish woman who looked extremely relieved and hurried to calculate the purchases. “Alright, Peter, go get those clothes again and get them on! We have to bring your own clothes back to the inn and then to Town Square! No doubt Antonio and Gilbert are there already with their... well...” Francis trailed off for a moment, and then cleared his throat. “Er, everyone ought to be down there by the time we get there. Ah, this is _tres_ exciting, _non_?”

"Exhilarating," Arthur mumbled sarcastically. Peter cheered and raced back to change. When the boy came back, changed, he beamed brightly at the two adults. Arthur sighed in disapproval, but no more. "Well, off we go," Arthur sighed, taking Francis's hand in his, and Peter's in his other with his clothes tucked under Francis’ arm.

After their brief stop at the inn, France led their small group through the twisting streets toward town square. As they approached, the sounds of laughter, shouting and music began to fill the air. Soon they began spotting people in bright colours walking around them, the crowd growing denser as they drew nearer and finally they emerged to find a large circle of people doing group dancing, with couples surrounding it. Arthur couldn’t tell where the music was coming from at first until Peter tugged on his arm and pointed to the roofs of the buildings around them where the musicians were standing and playing for all they were worth.

“Ah, no one throws a party like the Spanish!” Francis laughed aloud and grabbed up Arthur and Peter’s hands, pulling them to the group dancers who let them in. The Englishmen had of course never been a part of such a dance but the steps were simple and easy to catch onto.  Soon enough, Peter was dancing and laughing along with everyone else present. Arthur seemed to focus more on dancing then actually enjoying it.

When Francis took notice of Arthur’s sullen face, he sighed and nudged him, giving an encouraging smirk. “Come now, _lapin_! Dancing is not a chore, it is an expression of emotion! Please, at least try to smile for me,” the Frenchman squeezed his hand gently; “You look wonderful when you smile, _cheri_.” Arthur blushed and looked away.

"Today's just a bit of an off day," Arthur muttered, knowing that Francis would hear. "I just miss him a little extra today."

Francis now took on a frown and broke away from the larger dancing circle, taking Peter with a cry of protest with them since he didn’t want the boy to get lost in the crowd. The dance reformed without them and Francis instead pulled their group to where the smaller groups and couples were dancing. He held Arthur against his side as he swayed to the music, taking Peter’s hand and leading them as they made their way through the crowd towards the food and drinks. “It probably wouldn’t hurt to eat something, _cheri_. And Alfred is a very strong boy, if anyone can make a decent living with Ivan it will be him, as we’ve talked about before. Although... I still understand missing him. But he would want you to be enjoying yourself, not pining for him, _oui_?” Arthur sighed and nodded.

"Yes, Yes. I know," Arthur replied. "It still doesn't change much." Peter frowned, looking up at his brother. The boy pouted determinedly and stepped in front of them, effectively stopping the two adults.

"HEY! Jerk brother!" Peter huffed. "It’s supposed to be festival! Have fun and don't be such a downer!" This, although rude, was enough to bring a ghost of a small smile on Arthur's face.

"Not very nice to say Peter," Arthur chided. Peter only beamed, smug with the success of brightening Arthur's mood, if only by a bit.

Francis smiled at Peter and guided them all the way to the tables, where they discovered Feliciano and Ludwig each with churros in hand.

“Look! Look! _Ciao_ Francis! And Arthur! And Peter!” the Italian waved his hand in the air, “You have to have some of these! They are, um, _bueno_! That’s the Spanish for GOOD!” Ludwig flushed, a little embarrassed by his lover’s behaviour, and possibly his outfit... likely his outfit. If Arthur hadn’t seen Ludwig in a plain white tank top and pants next to him, he would’ve taken Feliciano for a girl. Mostly because he was wearing a bright green, white and red dress that came only halfway down his thighs and had more ruffles than a person could count. He also had a large red flower in his hair.

"Hello," Arthur greeted, still glancing at Feliciano's clothes with a raised eyebrow.

 “Antonio bought it for him,” Ludwig answered Arthur’s unasked question, “Lovino too, which is why you probably won’t notice him if he’s not with Spain. He’s doing his best to avoid being recognised at all costs.”

"Figures," Arthur hummed. "I feel bad for Lovino though."

Peter was eyeing the churro. "What exactly is it?" the younger Englishman asked the Italian.

Feliciano grinned at Peter and broke a piece off to hand to him. “It’s a pastry! It’s sugary with cinnamon, you have to try some!”

Peter smiled widely. "Thank you Mr. Feli!" He took a small bite, his eyes glittering when the soft bread tore off and the cinnamon practically melted off in his mouth. He swallowed, his face lighting up as bright as a lamp. "WOW! That's delicious!" Peter gasped.

“Ve~ I know right?” Feliciano laughed and grabbed Ludwig’s hand. “Let’s go dance, Luddy!”

“Er, I-I suppose if you wa-NT!” Ludwig gasped as Feliciano dragged him off into the crowd.

Francis smiled a little and looked at Arthur, “I think churros are a good idea, I’ll get one for each of us.” Arthur nodded and turned to stare at his brother, who was eagerly finishing off this piece of churro.

"Is it really that good?" Arthur asked uncertainly.

"It's sooooooooooo goood!" Peter affirmed. "It melts in my mouth practically! No bread has ever done that! And the sugar, oh the sugar~!"

"In that case I think that's way too much for you," Arthur clipped.

"Aw, Art, no!" Peter pouted. "I won't get a sugar high from it!"

"Hmm. We'll see," Arthur replied. Peter smiled and held out his last bite of churro.

"Preview?" Arthur rolled his eyes and popped the bite into his mouth. His eyes widened in surprise and his face melted into a smile.

"It IS good!"

"Told ya so!"

Soon Francis had gotten each of them their own full-sized churro which they happily enjoyed, watching the exotic dancing and flamboyant costumes swirling around them. Suddenly Arthur noticed Francis stiffen and following his line of vision he saw Matthew and Gilbert, both in matching outfits save for colour, both had white but where Matthew had red Gilbert had black. The two were standing in the crowd with the Prussian’s tongue obviously down the Canadian’s throat and his hands firmly holding their surrogate son’s arse.

Francis’ hands clenched in rage, squishing his churro to a pulp. “How dare he... how dare he defile my son right out in the open!”  Arthur stiffened but threw an arm to hold Francis back.

"Francis, Francis, love, listen to me," Arthur ordered. Peter took his brother's churro, freeing Arthur's other hand so that he could force Francis to stare at him. "If you go over there, you'll only give Matthew another reason to hate you," Arthur advised. "Let it be for now."

Francis bit his lip as he stared into Arthur’s green eyes, but finally sighed and nodded. “I know... I know. I am sorry.” The Frenchman glanced at the squished churro in his hand and threw it to the ground where it was pounced on by a stray dog that was sniffing around for dropped food.  Arthur's eyes saddened with Francis's. Arthur made the man look at him and placed a firm kiss over the other's lips.

"Cheer up and I will too," Arthur muttered when they broke away.

Francis’ eyebrows rose, but a tiny smile found its way back onto his face. “ _Oui_ , I suppose I will try then. Care to try dancing again?”

"Alright, let's go," Arthur nodded. Peter sat where Feliciano had been sitting previously, happily watching and munching on his churro as Francis and Arthur were swept up amongst the dancers.

Just as Peter lost track of Arthur and Francis in the crowd, he felt a sudden hand on his shoulder. He looked up and his eyes widened to see a tall man wearing a mask over his eyes and a large green cloak peering down on his with a wide smile.

“’Ello thar kid! Noticed you over here almost done your churro! Now I’ve had so many today, I couldn’t finish mine!” the man laughed, it was a loud, full sound, “So I thought you might like the rest! What do you think? And don’t worry, I won’t tell your Pops that you got too much sugar, our secret!” the man held out a churro with what seemed to be a single bite out of it.

Peter glanced at Arthur's cooling churro and then turned his gaze onto the warm one in the man's grip. Arthur had told him repeatedly over and over again not to accept things from strangers, but surely that was only in England! England was full of beggars and drunks and rebelling young men, surely Spain was much safer? Against his better judgement, Peter smiled up at the man and accepted the churro.

"Thank you, sir!" Peter beamed. He didn't notice the smirk on the man as he happily began to chew on his churro. He did, however, notice when he began to feel dizzy and his eyelids where heavy. He swayed, the churro slipping from his fingers as he fell face first.

\-- --

After dancing for at least twenty minutes in much better spirits, Francis and Arthur made their way back to the place they had left Peter, though upon finding him missing, Francis grabbed Arthur around the waist as he started to panic.

“Calm down, _lapin_ ,” Francis said carefully, “I’m sure he only wandered off somewhere looking at the dancers. He can’t be too far.”

"Yeah," Arthur agreed, completely unconvinced as his eyes darted around for his brother. They looked and looked, but the longer they looked the more hysterical Arthur was becoming. At last, they were forced to admit that they could not find him, and Arthur was bawling. "Oh my god what if someone stole him?" Arthur wailed. "I'm terrible! I should've never taken my eyes off of him! My little Peter!" Suddenly, he looked stricken as he whispered, "Or worse. What if he left?!"

Francis bit his lip and grabbed Arthur’s wrist. “He would not leave, he never goes too far from you and he isn’t about to start now.” Francis closed his eyes a moment to think and then pulled Arthur around to speak directly to his face. “We will have to find anyone we know in this crowd and have them start searching as well, and questioning people if they have seen a boy fitting Peter’s description. Make sure you tell anyone you find what he was wearing to the last detail! We will work faster if we split up, and we will meet back at this spot in twenty minutes with whatever information we can gather. Is that understood?” Arthur nodded, worry still etched into his face. Arthur walked about, trying to communicate before realizing he knew nothing of the Spanish language. Arthur groaned, biting his lips.

"You know, that's not healthy."

Arthur whirled around, his face brightening as Miguel stood before him. "I need your help," Arthur said. "Peter's missing. We can't find him and none of the locals know English!"

"Obviously," Miguel muttered. Seeing Arthur's pained face, he sighed.

"I'll be an interpreter," Miguel agreed. "Only because I liked Peter as much as I liked Alfred."

"Thank you!"

The two wandered throughout the crowd, asking people about Peter. Arthur's worry was near breaking point. Arthur began digging his nails into his palms, the skin breaking. Miguel could only shake his head sadly at the other's frazzled nerves. From a little girl, Miguel and Arthur learned that children were recently going missing.

"I need to tell Matthew," Arthur whispered, his eyes locating the Canadian still dancing blissfully with Gilbert. Miguel only nodded. Arthur raced to Matthew. He didn't care if he was with Gilbert or not, Arthur knew Matthew would want to know. The couple broke apart when Arthur practically ripped Matthew away from Gilbert.

"Wha-?!"

"HEY!"

"Peter's missing," Arthur cried fretfully. Matthew was soon in the same worried state as Arthur as the Englishman told him about Peter's disappearance.

“And that little girl said children have been going missing recently?” Matthew asked fretfully, “B-but, what if it’s some kind of... of slave auction thing? Oh god!” Matthew turned to Gilbert who looked stricken when suddenly an opinion was expected of him. He coughed uncomfortably.

“Well, uh, it could just be a ransom thing,” the albino said with a small shrug. He barely knew Peter, so the idea of him being missing didn’t really affect him so much, “We might just get a note tomorrow at the inn saying how much money the kidnapper wants and then we pay it.”

Matthew shook his head, “But if it’s slave traders he could be miles away by tomorrow!”

Gilbert sighed, “Slave traders pick people up at sea or in the wilderness, not in towns or cities. And they typically don’t target kids because kids don’t sell at as high a price. They can’t do manual labor and are pretty much destined for prostitution houses, which don’t really pull in as much money per slave as you’d think, especially with kids. I’d saying it’s almost definitely a kidnapping. Just pay what they ask and it’ll be fine.”

Matthew stomped his foot and glared at Gilbert, whose eyes widened when he realised how serious Matthew was about this. “We should still start asking around to see if anyone saw Peter!”

Gilbert frowned and looked at Arthur. “When did Francis say he’d meet you?”

"In 20 minutes," Arthur replied. "I actually should've gone to see him 15 minutes ago, but..." Arthur shook his head. "Over by the tables," Arthur continued.

Gilbert nodded. “Okay, well let’s go meet him then and see what he found and we’ll go from there.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Matthew agreed and the three of them worked their way through the crowd, eyes still searching for Peter as they did so, and finally found Francis standing with Feliciano, Ludwig, Antonio (in full bull-fight uniform complete with form-fitting pants) and a woman in a black and red flamenco dress that could only be assumed to be Lovino, looking rather sullen. Francis seemed to be searching the crowd on the verge of utter panic until his eyes set on Arthur. He pushed through a few people and grabbed Arthur up in an embrace.

“IDIOT!” Francis shouted at him, “How could you take so long? I-I thought you had gone missing too!”

“I told you he’d be fine, stupid,” Lovino snapped, drawing closer to them, “Anyway, Arthur,” Lovino coughed, apparently hoping the man would ignore the fact he was in a dress, “I spoke to an older man who said he saw a little girl, wearing the outfit Francis said Peter was wearing so it might’ve been him, but he said he said this girl unconscious and being carried out of the town square by a man in a mask and green cloak. The old man asked what he was doing and he said his daughter had passed out in the sun and had to be taken home immediately. Obviously the bastard didn’t stop the guy since the mask isn’t that weird out in this bunch of idiots, but yeah.”

Francis sighed and looked down at Arthur’s terrified expression, “We will get him back. It’s a lead if nothing else, we’re going to head down the way the old man pointed and ask if anyone else saw a man in a green cloak carrying an unconscious child, alright?” Arthur nodded, but he still looked terrified. His brother was kidnapped. His brother was kidnapped! A burst of rage suddenly overpowered his worry. An animistic growl slipped from his lips.

"When I find the bastard who stole Peter, he'll never see the light of another day!" Arthur vowed.

Francis nodded and the group set off in the direction that had been indicated. They questioned everyone they saw and for a while they received encouraging directions as several people mentioned seeing the man in the green cloak, that is until he was reported to have disappeared into an alleyway. A scope of that alley found the torn blue frills and hat that Peter had been wearing lying behind a crate and on the other side of the alley there was no one around to question.

Matthew sank to his knees and stared at the empty street. “But... but we followed the trail this far...”

Francis bit his lip. “He probably... he probably took off Peter’s clothes because they were too easily identifiable. It is possible he was not working alone and had someone waiting for him in the alley with different clothes. Carrying a naked boy would also be too easily noticed.” Arthur picked up the hat, his face painfully blank, and looked at it. He hugged it to his chest for a moment before turning to the others, still eerily calm.

"Let's go," Arthur said. Lovino tried reaching out to him, but Arthur shrugged off the Italian's hand.

Francis winced, but nodded, his eyes shadowed. No one wanted to return to the party after all this and nothing more could be done here. They could not even hope someone in one of the houses saw what happened as everyone in town was at the festival. Gilbert pointed out that whoever took Peter would likely need to pass through the gate of the city to leave, so Miguel ran off to the gates to ask if Peter had been seen and if not, to bar anyone fitting his description from leaving the town. Only he left as he spoke Spanish and only one horse could be found roped to the side of the road. Of course Miguel would bring it right back when he was done, but horseback was the only hope there was of reaching the gates fast enough.

In the meantime, the rest went back to the inn. If any note of ransom would be sent, that is where it would end up.

“I’m so sorry,” Francis said softly, his breath hitching in his throat as he and Arthur solemnly entered their room. They needed to figure out what to do, but at the moment their options were extremely limited. “If I hadn’t suggested we go that... that _stupid_ festival! This would never have... this...” Francis’ shoulders shook and he turned away from the Englishman, facing the wall, “If you should hate me now, I’d hardly blame you. It seems I’ve lost them all...” his voice trailed off to a whisper, “What have I done to you, _mon lapin_?”

"You've done nothing Francis," Arthur whispered. He wasn't facing Francis either. He was looking down at the hat in his hands, his face still painfully blank. "You've done nothing at all," Arthur whispered, tears slowly filled his own eyes and his grip on the hat tightened. "It's my fault. I should have left him at home! I shouldn't have taken him with me so far out! Molly would've been more than happy to care for him, she's done so before! I was so stupid! Stupid!" The Englishman fell sobbing to his knees, curling around the hat now being hugged tightly to his chest.

"I should've known better!" Arthur wailed, his voice growing more and more hysterical and less coherent as he continued, "He wanted to leave in the beginning, and we had so many chances. So fucking many! But I stupid! Goddamn it, I was stupid and selfish. I didn't...I didn't want to leave. But I couldn't protect my brother and now I've lost him! Scott was fucking RIGHT! I'm USELESS! I...I..." Arthur broke off, crying heavily and trembling with self-imposed hatred.

Francis looked back at Arthur and shivered before running to him and pulling him into a tight embrace, “ _Non, non cheri_ , hush, it is not your fault. Never your fault. You could never have known this would happen, you’ve never even been to Spain before! You’re not useless, if anything... if anything it is myself to blame for being your distraction, and for letting things get this way. Scott is not right. He is NEVER right, you are not useless. You are an incredibly caring and able man and I will not anything else. _Je t’aime_ , Arthur, you are not useless. We will get Peter back we’ll get... we’ll get our _petit fils_ back.”

"Wh-What if he's gone?!" Arthur sobbed, letting Francis hold him as he always did. "Gone from...from this Earth! W-What am I going to do?!"

“He’s not!” Francis insisted, stroking Arthur’s hair, “Peter is fine. It is as Gilbert said, he was only kidnapped for ransom most likely, we will get a note and pay what is asked. He will be fine. At worst they plan to take him from the city, but Miguel is taking care of that as we speak. They would not kidnap a boy from a festival to kill him, I swear to you, Peter is alive and we will find him. We will, _lapin_ , we will.”

\-- --

Seeping coldness and a numb feeling in his wrists were the first things Peter's brain processed as he began to stir. He groaned, shaking his head to clear the still remaining drowsiness. He flicked his eyes open, thankful for the dimness as his eyes adjusted.

"A-Art?" Peter made to move forward, blinking in surprise when his tired limbs refused to move. "What the-?" He pulled repeatedly against the tight rope holding his wrists to the wall. He let out a distressed noise and tugged harder. In a panic, Peter began trying to bite his arms off. He was too frightened to even think straight, his mind clogged with only thoughts of running away and going back to Arthur.

“Hey! Hey kid, quit that!” a sharp, young, female voice sounded from Peter’s right and the boy stopped to turn that direction. A girl with a side-ponytail and a flower in her hair was chained to the wall not far from him. She looked a little relieved when he stopped biting, but her expression quickly turned to one of annoyance. “What the heck is trying to bite your arm off supposed to do? If you want to escape, you have to be smarter than that!” She tossed her head to flip her ponytail away from her face. “ _I’ve_ already gotten out of my shackles and made a break for it twice now, there’s ways to do it, but then they catch you when you make a break for the door.” The mystery girl frowned at Peter’s confused expression. “Oh, yeah, you’re probably only speak Spanish. Daddy said most people in Spain are like that. I don’t really know Spanish, except for ‘ _si_ ’.”

"Hey! Don't assume I can't speak the Queen's English!" Peter snapped, too offended and gentlemanly to put any real bite in his tone. "Tell me Miss! How do I get out?"

The girl’s eyes widened a little, but then she snorted. “What’d I just say? They catch you when you make a break for the door! You won’t get out anyway. But I had to use some talent to get out myself. Like, when the quiet guard comes in to feed us, he doesn’t usually pay as much attention, so if someone else can talk to him and distract him you can reach out with your bare foot and get the keys off his belt and so you can unlock yourself when he’s gone. I had that Italian weirdo do it before,” the girl looked across the room and Peter followed her gaze to a slightly older boy with a wayward curl similar to the Italian twins from Antonio’s boat.

"Hey! Who're you calling a weirdo?" the boy huffed. His accent was similar to the Italian twins as well, and it made Peter feel slightly better.

"Um, sir?" Peter asked weekly.

"Sir?" the Italian snorted. "I'm still a kid like you, kid."

"O-Oh."

"My name's Marcello," the boy offered, much more gently. "That one over there is Emily." Peter smiled shyly.

"N-Nice to meet you. I'm Peter."

Emily nodded. “Right, well, anyway back to what I was saying. So that worked twice, but now they watch the keys better. But I’ve been thinking that, well, blood’s pretty slippery right? So if we rubbed our wrists raw and bled, we might be able to slip out, like soap!”

A dignified cough was heard from nearby and a boy with curly, dark blonde hair and an accent Peter didn’t know but reminded him faintly of the tailors back in the French port, spoke, “I hardly think blood is an appropriate way to escape from handcuffs, especially for a young lady.”

“Oh shut up Liam!” Emily huffed, “If you don’t have a better plan of escape, don’t talk about other people’s!”

"I kinda have to agree with Liam about this one," Marcello said. "Not that you’re a lady, _Dio_ no. I mean, escaping with blood? Emily, that'll leave our wrists raw and tender. If our wrists are tender, they might fail us along the way if another obstacle comes up."

"I don't think we'll have a choice Marcello," Peter said worriedly. "We have to at least try!"

Emily nodded at Peter. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying! I mean, it’s worth a try!” She turned to glare and Marcello. “And I AM TOO a lady, you shut up too!”

Liam scoffed. “You have GOT to be joking. And what happens when we get caught AGAIN and are sent back down here? They’ll tighten the shackles AND our wrists will be hurting more. How is that supposed to help us?”

Emily’s cheeks puffed out in annoyance. “Well it doesn’t help if you think that way! What if this time it helps us escape?”

“Escape is an art,” a soft voice in the corner said and everyone glanced in that direction. What appeared to be a young girl with pale hair in two long braids with a flyaway curl in her bangs was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her violet eyes were wide and she was shaking slightly, as if cold. She repeated, “Escape is an art.”

Emily sighed, as if used to this interruption. “Yes, Florian, it is the art of escape. That why you call them ‘escape artists’.”

Liam groaned and shifted in discomfort. “Florian, you’re the weirdest boy ever.”

Emily glared at Liam, but ended up rolling her eyes. “Leave Florian alone. He just likes art, okay?” Marcello rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. Peter glanced up at his shackled and sighed loudly as well.

"I suggest we start then," Peter advised, a slight grimace on his face. "It'll take a while to rub off our skin, then even longer to slick it with enough blood to slip our hands out." Marcello watched Peter and Emily frantically rub their wrists before sighing.

"I don't believe this," the Italian muttered, beginning to slowly rub his wrists. Peter beamed at the Italian.

"It's alright friend," Peter encouraged. "Besides, it only hurts a little." Marcello made a face. No one could tell if Florian had started rubbing, but Liam seemed steadfastly against it.

“There is NO WAY!” the blonde boy huffed and looked away as soon as Peter gave his first small grimace of pain, “I don’t... I don’t like blood...”

"Blood doesn't excite me either, but if it gets us out of these chains, then we're leaving you!" Marcello warned.

"That's completely rude!" Peter chastised Marcello before turning to Liam. "If we get free, I'll find a way to bust your chains," Peter promised.

Liam’s eyes widened and he carefully glanced back at Peter for a second before looking away again. “Um... thanks I guess...”

Emily let out a soft groan as the skin on her wrist started to chaff and sting. “Ow, uh, how are you guys doing?” she asked Peter and Marcello.

"I'm guessing if it stings then I'm doing good," Marcello huffed, wincing from the pinpricks of pain as his skin opposed the friction.

"F-Fairly well," Peter replied. "And you Emily?"

Emily felt tears in her eyes as more pain flooded into her wrists. “I-I’m okay, you know, hurts but i-it’ll work...”

At that moment however there was the sound of a door opening at the top of the stairs and all the children stopped dead in their work. Footfalls were heard coming down.

“Oh, it’s meal time already?” Liam asked in confusion.

Emily shook her head, “No, it’s not... oh right, because-“

The girl’s mouth snapped shut as the tall man with the mask and cloak entered the room. He looked around at the terrified looking children before his gaze seemed to settle on Peter, who gulped and tried to edge back into the wall.

“Hey thar kids!” he said in his odd accent, “’ope yer all doing okay down here, don’cha worry, I know all yer mums and dads have enough cash to pay yer ransom, so thar’s no need to think about escaping ahead o’ time, kay?” his gaze seemed to shift to Emily for a moment and the girl visibly gulped. He turned back to Peter. “Now then! I need to know yer name, yer parents’ names, and where they’re stayin’ so I know who and where to send yer ransom note!” Peter bit his lip. He dared a glance at Emily, then at Marcello.

"I-I'm Peter Kirkland, sir." Peter replied, trying to be brave despite his quivering voice. "My father...brother...is Arthur Kirkland." Marcello began rubbing his wrists while the man was distracted. He winced, biting his lips to hold in the pain as his skin had finally broke just as Peter had finished telling the man the address of the inn they were staying at. A very fancy and expensive one, Peter found out.

The masked man nodded and smiled. “Alrigh’ well, from yer clothes I could’ve ‘ssumed as much. Good teh know though! Ya, you’ve got nothin’ to worry ‘bout. I’ll get meh cash and you’ll go home, so just wait here for another few days, the ransom drop off date is pretty soon anyway. Home in no time!” He laughed and in that laugh happened to glance Marcello’s way. “What’s wrong with you, kid?” he asked, noticing his pained wince.

"Your face bugs me!" Marcello spat, his pained expression quickly transforming into one of a hateful rage. "No wonder you wear a mask, not that it helps!"

The masked man snorted. “I wear a mask so you kids don’t go away knowing what I look like, I can think of a few people who’d say I ‘ave a rather handsome face, not tha’ you’ll see it. Anyway...” the man stretched, “I’ll be sending Gupta in later to feed you and take ya to the bathroom if ya need it. If someone’s dying down here, give a shout.” The man headed for the stairs again, ascended them, and the children heard the door open and shut again above them. Emily started frantically rubbing her wrists again.

“That guy creeps me out, a lot,” Emily said, wincing again, “He keeps saying we’ll all be fine, but I don’t trust him at all!”

Liam huffed, “Well, what if he’s telling the truth? I mean, I’m sure all of our parents can afford a simple ransom. Maybe we should just wait it out, you know? Better than bleeding all over the place.”

“Deception is an art,” Florian said softly, drawing little attention to herself. _Himself_. That kid was boy, Peter had to remind himself.

Emily looked at Florian and bit her lip, “Yeah... yeah exactly. I think he’s lying, I mean, _maybe_ he’s telling the truth, but we can’t be sure.”

Liam’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why would he be lying? What good would keeping us do, if he’s already got his money?”

Emily sighed and rolled her eyes. “Idiot! He could get money from our parents and then sell us into slavery anyway, and get paid twice over!” Liam’s eyes widened and he shut up.

"He does seem fishy," Peter agreed. "We'll go along with our original plan of escaping, but as soon as he gives us even a sliver of a chance at escaping, then I say we take it."

"I second that motion," Marcello muttered, shivering as his raw flesh rubbed against the cold metal, blood dribbling down his arms. Peter gave the Italian a sympathetic look.

“Third, obviously,” Emily sniffed and let out a like yelp as her wrist finally cut through and began to bleed. Liam watched this with wide eyes and turned a bit green. He looked away as his breathing sped up. Peter rubbed faster. Marcello watched his new friend as he carefully spilled his own blood over the chains. Peter gasped, looking up to see the blood begin to gather where his skin had torn, and continued his rubbing.

“Urg,” Emily groaned as she started twisting her wrists, trying to get the blood to coat the inside of the shackles, “W-well, my hands _are_ moving more now than they were... um...” she tried pulling down with one hand, squeezing her fingers together to get as small as possible. While the shackle got further up on her hand than usual, she couldn’t get it all the way through. Then, to her horror, she found she couldn’t squeeze it back the other way either. Now her right hand was completely trapped, unable to move in any direction. “Oh no, oh no...” Emily’s eyes widened as she struggled with the shackle and began to whimper.

"Emily, Emily!" Peter called worriedly. "Calm down. Just...just..."

"Just what Peter?" Marcello snarled. "Her hand is stuck!"

"I know that!" Peter spat back. "Shut up I'm thinking!" Marcello rolled his eyes and turned his stare back to the frightened girl, attempting to calm her down.

“I-If Gupta comes down and sees I’m halfway out they’ll know what we’ve been doing, they’ll check our wrists and... and...” Emily’s eyes began to tear up and Liam let out a choked noise.

“Um w-well, you might as well try to free your other wrist then,” the blonde boy muttered, “If you can get that one, uuh, wetter,” Liam coughed a little, “and get it free, maybe you can push your other hand free with it...”

Emily looked at Liam, who was still green, and then looked back at her trapped hand. She let out one more whimper and started to twist her left hand around frantically, trying to get it as coated in as much of her own blood as possible, no matter how much it hurt.

Peter rubbed his own skin, slicking the shackle with his blood in hopes of getting out to help Emily. Marcello twisted and tugged savagely at the bonds, squeezing his hand together and carefully wiggling it from side to side. A loud crack was heard, followed by Marcello's scream, but the boy's hand slipped out. The other children stopped to stare at him with wide eyes and open mouths. Marcello looked at his freed hand, coated in blood, his thumb too close to the palm, and pieces of his own skin still clinging to his worn wrist, as tears gathering in his eyes from both pain and relief. Footsteps sounded, coming closer, making Peter's heart sink.

"Oh _Dio_ ," Marcello whimpered. Liam finally looked over, saw Marcello’s hand, and promptly vomited all over the floor beside him.

The door at the top of the stairs banged open and hurried footsteps came as the masked man re-entered the room. “Damn it! What the hell are you kids doin’ down here?” Behind him, a smaller man in white clothes with pitch black hair stood silent with a neutral expression. The masked man stared at them all until his eyes caught sight of Marcello cradling his broken hand to his chest. The man hissed some word that was likely a curse and knelt down to take the Italian’s hand roughly in his to look at it. He gave a wry smile. “Well, that’s one way t’ try to slip your ‘cuff I guess. Gupta, check the others,” the man waved dismissively and reached up to unlock Marcello’s other shackle, easily forcing the boy to his feet. “I’m going to see about wrapping this one up. Usin’ blood to escape, never would’ve thought kids would try that,” he laughed.

Gupta nodded and began checking the chains silently, starting with Liam. Marcello struggled to get away from the masked man, kicking and yelling. Peter flinched at the sharp kick the man gave Marcello, effectively knocking the wind out of the Italian child. When Gupta reached Emily, his eyes widened a fraction, but returned back to their neutral state. He gripped her forearm with one hand and held the shackle with another. "It'll hurt," he said, whispered, quietly. Without another warning, he shoved it upward, ignoring the cry of pain that Emily released. He straightened up and nodded. He turned to Peter, noting the blood on the shackles and his wrists. Gupta shook his head and began walking up the stairs.

"Sir?"

Gupta turned to look at the speaker.

"It was my idea," Peter said. Gupta nodded slowly and continued his ascend. The door slammed shut, leaving the remaining children to themselves.

Emily looked at Peter, flushed, and looked away, eyes still sparkling with tears. “They’ll probably...” she sighed, “They’ll probably tighten the chains now... or wrap our wrists in cloth before shackling us, so we can’t rub anymore... I’m sorry, I made you hurt yourself for nothing...”

"It's not a problem, miss!" Peter said brightly, smiling in attempts to make Emily smile as well. "Besides, we gave it our best shot, didn't we?"

Liam snorted, looking grim. “Even if you did your best, that was probably your last shot and we’re still stuck here.”

Emily closed her eyes, fighting to keep her breathing even. “I just...” her eyes opened a little a soft tear worked down her cheek. Liam froze and suddenly looked very ashamed.

“I-I’m sorry, we’ll think of something else!” he said hurriedly, “Damn it, you can’t cry, you’re the only one who hasn’t yet...” his breathing now hitched and he swallowed.

Emily shook her head. “I-I really thought this would work, b-but Marcello’s hurt now a-and might be p-punished because of me and... and that wasn’t supposed to happen!” Another tear joined the first, “And I just... I j-just want to g-go home... I want to go home...” her voice trailed off and she fell into badly muffled sobs. Liam appeared horrified. Peter shot a glare at Liam and looked at Emily, biting his lip.

"Emily," Peter said softly. "It's not your fault, you can't carry the world's burdens on your shoulders, you’re just a kid. Even grown men can't carry such burdens on their shoulders either. Marcello and I knew the likely consequences and repercussions that would follow if we were caught. We were desperate enough to follow the path that you pointed out. We didn't have to go down it, but we chose to. C'mon Emily, dry those tears and have a stiff upper lip. We'll find another way out of here, together. All of us!"

“What makes you so grown up?” Liam spat, but Emily snivelled and rubbed her face into her arm.

“Y-you’re right,” she said quietly, “I’m... I’m giving up too quickly,” she swallowed and gave Peter a small, watery smile. “We’ll get out of here! I know it!”

Florian’s voice was quiet, but very present, reminding the others of his presence, “Wishing is an art.”

Liam groaned loudly, lightly smacking the back of his head off the wall behind him. “Will you just SHUT UP? You’re no help at all!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 15 Translations
> 
> Se dépêcher! - (French) hurry up! 
> 
> super mignon! - (French) super cute


	16. Gathering

**Chapter 16: Gathering**

Arthur paced back and forth, too agitated to do much else. He had finished his crying for the day, and had vowed not to shed a tear until Peter was safely back in his arms. This, however, resulted in a rather moody and rebellious Briton who seemed quick to pick a fight. Francis had tried calming him down, but that only resulted in Arthur snapping at him and trying to punch him. Therefore, Francis sat on the bed, watching the Englishman pace around the room.

"Goddamn it," Arthur growled. He had changed out of the bright festive clothes into a plain white shirt with lace and black pants. He wore his green coat over it, a small part of him still trying to be proper.

Francis sighed and idly picked at a loose thread on the comforter. “You are starting to wear down the rug,” he observed as the area Arthur kept pacing on was starting to show a visible trail.

"Fuck the rug," Arthur growled. The Englishman stopped, looking out the window before glancing at Francis. "They still haven't sent the note," Arthur commented lightly.

Francis nodded. “But it has only been eight hours, _lapin_. It may take a day or two before they send anything. Miguel already confirmed that they did not leave the city through the gate and will not be able to without difficulty. And he was able to tell us that other children from families that have displayed wealth have gone missing as well and have received ransom notes, I’m sure we will receive one.”

Arthur sighed and looked back out the window. "I need a drink," Arthur concluded. The Englishman made for the door, and then turned around. "Care to join?" Arthur asked.

Francis gave a wry smile and nodded, getting to his feet and following the Englishman. The two headed down the hall, but were cut off as Gilbert suddenly appeared, running toward them with Matthew on his heels.

“W-we got the note!” Matthew said hurriedly, waving a piece of paper in the air, “I-it was delivered to the front desk by a woman who said she was given a small piece of silver to deliver it. But it’s addressed to Arthur,” Matthew pushed the letter into Arthur’s hand.

It read:

_Good evening Arthur Kirkland, I hope this letter reaches you alright, for everyone’s best interests. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I have kidnapped your son... or maybe brother, since he said both. I don’t really care. The fact is, I have Peter Kirkland here and if you want him back you’ll have to deliver 3000 gold pieces and 2000 pieces of silver, or the monetary equivalent, to my associate behind the bell tower at 11pm three days from now. He’ll give you the location of your kid and you can go pick him up from there. No one gets hurt that way, right? And of course, if you don’t come with the money I’ll leave a trail of his limbs all around that pretty hotel you’re staying at. So you’ll get him back either way! I hope for his sake you come through though. Good luck!_

Francis, who had been reading over Arthur’s shoulder, shuddered. “What a beastly ransom note! My ransom notes are never this crude, has that man never learned to properly hold a pen?”

Arthur, however, didn't care about how messy the other's writing was. All that mattered was the content, and the threat in it. Arthur ran a hand through his messy hair, digging his nails into his scalp. "I don't suppose you have that much, do you?" Arthur asked tightly, his throat constricted.

Francis sighed. “Well, I can cover the silver equivalent at least and perhaps 200 of the gold, but unless I’m able to steal from another ship within three days, which is highly unlikely, we’ll have to sell some things.”

Gilbert snorted, “Well, don’t worry about selling too much. I can spot you another 900 gold pieces worth of cash if you want. I’m sure Antonio will help out too.”

Francis looked relieved, even as Matthew clung to Gilbert’s arm and kissed his cheek in gratitude. “ _Merci_ , so that is only 1900 gold pieces, perhaps less that we need to raise. We’ll likely have to return the party clothes we bought, though obviously Peter’s are torn so they cannot be returned. We should be able to get 100 back from that and there’s more on the ship that can be sold... do not worry _lapin_ , the money will be available.”

Gilbert scoffed, “But seriously, we have GOT to hit up another merchant ship or three after Portugal, this is seriously going to put us out of cash.”

Francis frowned. "I know, but I'm not going to use anything more than my personal savings for this, I doubt the members of my crew would be keen to cut into their loot shares for the sake of one small boy who's gotten himself into trouble, non?" Arthur sighed, folding the paper into a tiny square. He stared at it, gave it a small kiss, and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Drinks?" Arthur reminded. He began walking again, rubbing his forehead.

"Arthur." A hand caught him by the upper arm, making him turn around and face a worried Francis. Arthur scowled and stared up at Francis seriously.

"Right now," Arthur said slowly. "However cruel it is, I want to forget about Peter. Right now, damn it all to hell, I just want a bottle of rum. I'll get my brother back alive, with or without the money. But like I said, right now, I want to forget Peter was even born." Francis’ eyes widened, though not to the extent Matthew’s did.

“A-are you sure Arthur?” the Canadian asked quietly. Gilbert laughed loudly and slapped Arthur on the back.

“Great idea! Can’t do anything else right now anyway, so let’s get drunk!” steering Arthur by the shoulders, Gilbert led the way down to the tavern where the group ordered up rounds of their drink-of-choice, Francis and Matthew sticking with wine, Gilbert grabbing beer and of course, Arthur had finished half a bottle of rum before they had barely sat down at the bar.

“Ah, should you really drink so fast, _amour_?” Francis asked in slight worry as Arthur continued to chug his drink.

"Why the bloody hell shouldn't I?" Arthur snapped back, glaring as he took another swig. He tossed his head back, not even wincing as the alcohol slipped down his throat. Arthur slammed the now empty bottle down on the table, a wide grin stretched across his face. He signaled for another one, and then turned to his companions. He rolled his eyes at the looks Matthew and Francis where sending him.

“KESESESE!” Gilbert laughed and threw an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, “Who knew you could take it like a man, Artie?”

Francis coughed, “Er, Arthur, perhaps this is silly to ask, but you are feeling alright, _non_?”

"Yes, yes! I'm fine!" Arthur snapped. "Can't a man have a drink in peace, Frog?" The Briton turned to the albino, leaving Gilbert’s arm around his shoulders despite it being obvious Francis wanted him to shrug it off as usual if only for a sense of normality from the Englishman. "Don't suppose you've got a ciggy on you, do you ol'chap?" Arthur hummed. He took a large gulp from the new bottle.

“A _cigarette_?” Francis asked in horror as Gilbert laughed again and asked the barman if they had any in stock. They did, as it turned out, and soon Arthur was smoking and drinking like there was no tomorrow. Francis shared a worried look with Matthew. “What is next? _Gambling_?”

“He better not!” Matthew squeaked, “H-he doesn’t have any money, and if you need to spot him for any he’ll be gambling away the ransom money!” Arthur cackled, having overheard the conversation between the two.

"Do you really think so little of me?" Arthur snickered. "I'm not so much of a dullard to gamble with money. No, it much more fun when the stakes are higher. Arthur's eyes sparkled with a dark mischievousness, and a wide lazy smirk spread across his face. "Oh lighten up!" Arthur snapped, glaring at Matthew and Francis as the two shot him worried looks.

Gilbert snorted. “Higher than money? So what do you bet, Artie?” The Prussian, starting to feel the power of the beer he had been chugging, started letting his arms drift lower down on England’s back.

“GILBERT!” both Matthew and Francis snapped and the Prussian’s arm immediately snapped back to England’s shoulder.

“Sorry! Sorry! I forgot!” the Prussian wailed.

“Y-you forgot me?” Matthew sniffed and Gilbert let go of Arthur entirely, in an instant pulling Matthew over into a hug and apologizing, touching him in far more places than necessary as Francis took up Gilbert’s seat next to Arthur, glaring at the albino over his shoulder. Arthur shook his head, taking another sip of rum. When that bottle finished, Arthur called for another.

"You seem much more uptight than usual," Arthur snickered, glancing at Francis from the rim of his fourth bottle. "Relax froggie. Drink a spirit or two."

Francis sighed and chanced a small smirk, “Well, I have not yet seen this side of you, _lapin_ , it is only natural I would be... confused. But I suppose something harder wouldn’t hurt.” Francis ordered a straight shot of vodka and chased it with a second, shuddering slightly at the taste and then drinking more wine to rid himself of it. After that his grins turned much more perverted and his hand seemed to find difficulty staying off Arthur’s arse.

Matthew watched this with wide eyes. “But...” he looked at Gilbert, “When he does that, doesn’t he get terribly sick in the morning?”

Gilbert snorted, “Guess he doesn’t care, but damn, wine and vodka are a bad combination.” Arthur cackled and shoved Francis away.

"Keep it in your pants," Arthur smirked. "You'll get nothing out here but a punch to the face." He leaned in close to Francis and whispered into the Frenchman's ear, "Wait until we're alone, my dear." He pulled away, knowingly leaving a horny Frenchman. He took another swig of his rum. ' _He's going to be sick,'_ Arthur thought to himself.

Francis whined a little and threw his arms around Arthur’s neck, nuzzling close to the Brit’s ear, “Oh, and what will you do to me when we are alone _cher_?”

Gilbert groaned, “This is getting disgusting.”

Matthew whimpered and leaned into the albino, “How do you think I feel, eh?”

Gilbert’s eyes widened, “Oh shit, PARENT SEX! Let’s get out of here.” On that note, the Prussian and Canadian skillfully slipped away leaving the horny drunkards with their tab.

"I said off, frog!" Arthur hissed. He glanced around then glared at Francis. "Oh joy, they slipped us the tab," Arthur grumbled. "It's your entire damn fault!"

Francis pouted and nibbled Arthur’s ear slightly before drawing away. “But I cannot help it! I come from the country of love _mon amour_ , do you not want me to demonstrate it? Hon hon hon hon...”

"Not here," Arthur snorted. "I'll punch you in the throat!"

“Hrm, surely not...” Francis laughed again and abruptly sat himself in Arthur’s lap. “Do show me your rough side, _petit lapin_!” Arthur punched the other, right on the throat, knocking Francis off his lap. He laughed before glancing over at the stunning man.

"You're an idiot for tempting me," Arthur laughed, standing up and holding a hand out for the other. "I did warn you, love."

Francis coughed on the floor for a good few minutes before finally allowing himself to be helped up, rubbing his throat. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “ _L-lapin_! You could’ve ruptured something! Why?” his eyes watered in his intoxication.

"I warned you!" Arthur huffed, not looking guilty at all, but rather irritated. "Besides, you were heavy and I didn't want you on my lap." He turned to his rum and took another sip. He choked when the bottle was roughly wrestled from his grasp. "What the bloody hell?!" Arthur coughed, glaring up at Francis, who had taken the bottle.

“ _Non, lapin,_ not unless you apologize,” his voice lowered into a rather erotic murmur, “With your mouth.”

Arthur growled, folding his arms and pouting. "Maybe," Arthur replied. "I said not here though, am I right?"

“So we will go elsewhere!” Before Arthur could reply Francis had thrown money on the bar, grabbed the Brit’s arm and had tugged him away. He decided the stairs were too far though, so instead he was suddenly pulled into a closet and plastered to the wall, the Frenchman’s lips at this neck and hands seeming to move everywhere at once.

Arthur growled in satisfaction. Briefly, Arthur realized as a teen he would've never done such a thing. Now, with his amount of sexual knowledge thanks to the man biting his neck, he was quite eager to try it while having a nice buzz. Then again, he always had a nice buzz when doing anything as a teen. At this, Arthur laughed.

Leaving a nice red mark of Arthur's neck, Francis was soon unbuttoning the Brit's vest and then the shirt beneath as well. The extra layers were annoying him and he wanted them done away with as soon as possible. "Ah _lapin_ , you will scream in every language you know, tonight."

"Really?" Arthur snorted. "Every? Gaelic isn't a very pretty language."

“Hmm,” Francis’s mouth made its way to Arthur’s nipple and nibbled it before answering, “Well, sometimes making love isn’t a very pretty act,” he bit down on the nipple rather hard, then. Arthur gasped sharply, his hands immediately gripping Francis's shoulders.

" _Sin Gortaítear_!" Arthur snarled, falling into a whimper when Francis nipped the sensitive nub.

“ _Oui_ , I expect so,” Francis blew cool air on the nub, watching it harden before pinching the other harshly.

" _Dydych chi ddim hyd yn oed yn gwybod beth i ddim yn dweud_ ,” Arthur snorted, shivering under Francis's treatment of his nipples.

Francis grinned, “ _Oui_ , I thought you might like that,” Leaning down to blow on the other nipple as well, Arthur fell under the impression that the Frenchman was going to pretend as though he knew what he was saying and would answer back in some kind of pretend conversation, like one would if speaking to a cat who meowed back when you spoke to it. Arthur snorted and smirked at Francis.

" _Vous l'homme stupide_ ," Arthur laughed, pulling the other away from his nipple and pulling him in for a kiss.

Francis smiled against Arthur’s lips and plundered his mouth hungrily, traces every inch even though he had already thoroughly mapped it out many times before. A knee was wedged between Arthur’s legs and rubbed against the manhood hidden there. Arthur gasped, letting Francis in deeper, then groaned and thrust against the knee between his legs. Arthur pulled away, a thin trail of saliva still connecting them, and began clawing at Francis's clothes.

 " _Fóra! Agora!_ " Arthur panted, and then translated for the other. "Off, now _._ Please?"

“Ah, _oui_ ,” Francis began to shed his clothes; unbuttoning his silk shirt and letting it slide to the ground, his pants quickly following it. He then assisted Arthur out of his own pants and once both were nude Francis dropped to his knees and took the Brit’s manhood into his mouth, straight to the back of his throat and hummed, the vibrations ringing through the head of the Englishman’s cock. Arthur tossed his head back, letting loose a long series of loud moans as he squirmed and buckled under Francis's mouth.

" _Máis_!" Arthur gasped, shivering with pleasure. " _Níos mó_! _Mwy_!”

Francis may not have known the meanings of those words nor could he tell which language was which, but for him the tone was unmistakable and to it he complied. His head bobbed as he moaned, his hands coming up to fondle and grasp what could not be fit between his expert lips. However, before Arthur could complete himself the Frenchman grasped his cock too hard to allow such a thing and removed his mouth immediately. “You wish to come before I’ve even entered you? That is very inconsiderate _lapin_ ,” Francis grinned up at the flustered Brit.

" _Damia chi_!" Arthur wailed, is face red as he panted wantonly. "D-Damn it Francis!" Arthur panted."S-Stop being such a wanker!"

Francis laughed and got to his feet, quickly pinning Arthur to the wall with his body so he could draw the Briton’s legs up around his waist, meeting little resistance. “I’m never wanking when I am with you, _cheri_ ,” giving a small laugh, he worked on positioning himself with Arthur’s hole, but suddenly paused. “I-I don’t have any lubrication with me.”

"Just put it in!" Arthur hissed, wetting his lips.

Francis nodded and thrust upward, quickly filling the Briton. Luckily, the alcohol dimmed the pain as Arthur was bounced and pushed into the wall with every thrust following, both bodies becoming slick with sweat. Francis groaned and panted, burying his face into his partner’s neck as his body ached with effort and ecstasy. Arthur slapped a hand over his mouth in attempts to muffle his moans. His other arm was thrown across Francis's shoulders, pulling him closer as Arthur arched his back. A gargle of mixed languages was also heard from under Arthur's hand.

“Ah, Ar-Arthur!” Francis gasped out, “ _Je suis si près..._ ”

Arthur threw his other arm around Francis and crashed their lips together. A particularly hard thrust to his abused prostate unraveled the Englishman, and he came, short of breath and moaning into the other's mouth. Within moments Francis came hard as well, and once done he collapsed again the wall, slowly sinking down to the ground and with some struggling managed to get Arthur off his penis and into his lap where he held the man as they both worked to come down from their high, breathing hard.

" _Llongyfarchiadau_ ," Arthur panted. " _Vostede me fixo falar_..." The Englishman kissed Francis on the forehead before continuing, " _I ngach teanga_ , _ce que je sais_. You wanker."

Francis hummed and kissed Arthur’s cheek. “I still have no idea what you’re saying but I’m going to assume you are complimenting my gorgeous physic and incomparable stamina, _non_?” In which case, _merci_ , I know.”

"You keep thinking that," Arthur snorted.

“I will,” Francis said simply, then grinned, “And I will have to return the compliments to you, as I feel I have found my near-match in them with your lovely figure and sex drive, _mon petit lapin corn_ _é_.”

Arthur blushed and shoved the other lightly; just enough to show him that he was annoyed. " _Rydych yn llawer mwy o anghyfreithlon horny na fi_!" Arthur huffed.

Francis sighed and held Arthur against his chest. “Which language is that, anyway?”

"Welsh," Arthur huffed prideful. "Ed taught it to me. You can always tell it's Welsh because the sentence structures are ridiculously wrong, every word MUST be pronounced PERFECTLY or it'd turn the sentence into something entirely different, and it sounds like I'm just saying gibberish. It's also incredibly hard to learn."

“Hmm, I’ll take your word for it,” Francis said with a smile, closing his eyes. “I myself am fluent in French, English and Spanish, and know enough Italian to get by. And I can read Latin.” He opened one eye and smirked, “Though I don’t care to brag. Antonio taught me Spanish and Spanish and Italian are close enough that we both learned some of that together. English and Latin were taught at our orphanage. Gilbert did attempt to teach German to Antonio and myself, but honestly, the language was far too beastly on the ears to bother with.”

"Welsh, Gaelic, Irish, French, and English," Arthur replied. "However, English, Welsh, and Gaelic are the languages I'm most comfortable with. Scott enforced the learning of Gaelic, specifically Scottish Gaelic. Ed taught me Welsh, and I loved my brother so much that I took it on in a frenzy. English, by default, was my first language. Growing up in a multilingual household was interesting, but we spoke English a majority of the time. I took French in school just to spite Scott." Arthur laughed. "I was such a rebellious teenager in my youth. A wonder I survived it at all. Irish I picked up from my brother Will. He didn't teach me specifically, but I picked up on it like a growing child who picks up on his native tongue.”

“I see,” Francis sighed and stretched. “Shall we put on clothes and head to our room, then? I’m starting to sober I... I think...” suddenly, Francis appeared to turn a bit green, “Oh... oh, why did I mix vodka and wine? I know better than that...”

"Yes, I did wonder that," Arthur mused. He carefully slipped out from under Francis and began to dress.

\-- --

Francis had managed to collapse into bed and slept roughly three hours before waking and rushing into the bathroom to puke out everything he ate the day before and then some. He tried drinking some water to rehydrate himself and ended up puking that up again as well. Arthur was forced to listen to this unsettling symphony of moaning and retching into the earliest hours of the morning before it quieted. When he finally got up he found Francis in the bathroom hugging the porcelain and dead asleep, snoring with his head on the toilet seat. His hair was sweaty and the ends seemed to have flecks of bile in them, something that also coated the corners of his mouth. His eyes were puffy and should he have opened them they would’ve been extremely bloodshot. To say the least, he looked a mess and when the Englishman poked his side, himself enduring only a moderate headache and the slightest stomach cramp, the Frenchman moaned pitifully.

“ _Oh mon dieu, je me sens comme une merde,_ ” Francis groaned, using his arm to cover his face.

Arthur pitied the man, clicking his tongue in slight distain. " _Vous avez l'air comme de la merde trop_ ," Arthur commented lightly. He looked around for a rag, careful to make the least possible amount of noise. Once located and wetted, Arthur walked back to Francis and began to gently clean the other. " _Mon imbécile_ ," Arthur hummed affectionately.

Francis smiled slightly as the rag cleaned the corners of his mouth, “I should bathe but... ooh, the seat is cold on my head... can’t move...” Francis groaned loudly, “Ow, ow, ow! _Merde!_ Never let me drink again!”

"How bout I just never let you drink that combination again?" Arthur offered. "I highly doubt that you'd give up wine."

“I suppose you have a point,” Francis said weakly and pushed his head off of the toilet, immediately clutching it in his hands, “Ah, and my neck hurts too... I should lie down, I doubt I have much left in me to v-vomit.” Francis struggled to his feet with help from Arthur who was still attempting to get the bile from the Frenchman’s hair as they made their way to the bed for Francis to collapse onto it. “Oh... oh _non_ ,” Francis immediately crawled up the bed, piled up the pillows and leaned against them in a sitting position, “Ah... I don’t think I should be horizontal right now.” He looked at Arthur with wide, pleading eyes, “Get me a cold cloth and another glass of water, _s'il vous plaît_?”

" _Oui_ ," Arthur replied, going off to obey. Minutes later, he returned with another wet cloth and a glass of water. "Here you go," he said, handing Francis the glass and personally placing the cloth on Francis's forehead, making sure to adjust it.

“ _Merci_ ,” Francis said quietly, closing his eyes, “Ah... as soon as I’m feeling better we can... we can work on selling some things for the ransom. Actually, if you could go ask Antonio if he’ll contribute right now, that would be _merveilleux_.” Arthur made a face.

"Crap, I did forget about that." Arthur smacked himself and got up. "I'll be off then," he sighed. "Don't die when I'm gone frog, or I'll have to kill you for it."

Francis’ shallow laugh followed him out the door as he headed off toward the Spaniard’s room. When he knocked, Lovino answered the door looking pissed as usual.

“Feliciano’s not here potato bast- oh it’s you!” Lovino’s eyes widened and he coughed, “Uh, what do you want?”

"W-Well," Arthur muttered, clearing his throat. "I, ah, a-assume you and Antonio both know of Peter's kidnapping?" Arthur flushed when Lovino nodded. He hated asking for help, but he needed to do this. For Peter. "Francis and I were both wondering if Antonio could spare some money to help pay for the ransom!" Arthur hurried out, his face red with embarrassment. "I-It doesn't have to be much, b-but I'd greatly appreciate it."

Lovino’s eyes widened for a moment before his lip tightened and he nodded. “ _Si_ , he will help you.”

“Who is at the door, Lovi?” Antonio’s voice came from the room. Lovino turned to look at the Spaniard but his body blocked Arthur’s view.

“It’s Arthur! He needs help to pay for his _fratello_ ’s ransom, bastard!”

“Oh! Uh, how much does he need?”

Lovino turned back to look at Arthur, his face strangely flushed, “Er, h-how much do you need, bastard?”

"The ransom is asking for asking for 3,000 gold pieces and 2,000 pieces of silver," Arthur sighed. "Francis is covering the silver and 200 of the gold, and Gilbert's giving us 900. That 1,100 of the 3,000. Francis and I are going to sell some things as well, but as far as I know, we don't have an estimate for that yet."

Lovino winced, “So you need, what, 1900 gold pieces? That’s a lot... but I will manage something.” He turned to the room again. “He needs 1900 gold pieces still!”

“Um, well he can have five hundred from me then, I can’t spare too much right now, you know, we just spent a lot...”

“Yeah, those stupid outfits you made me and my _fratello_ wear were 200 gold pieces EACH! Sell them and make some of that money back why don’t you! Even if you only get half what you paid, it’s not like we’re going to wear them again anyway!”

“B-but Lovi, you looked so good in it...”

“I’M NOT WEARING IT AGAIN YOU BASTARD!” Lovino looked out at Arthur again with a red-faced scowl, “We’ll get you 900 to match Gilbert’s, even if I have to crush that bastard’s balls.”

Antonio gasped from the room. “Lovi, that’s mean!”

When Lovino turned this time to scream at the Spaniard again, Arthur was able to glance over the Italian’s shoulder and immediately looked away when he saw Antonio naked on their bed with his hands tied to the bed posts with red scarves. Well... to each their own...

"T-Thank you," Arthur said, both hurriedly and seriously as he tried to gain control over his embarrassed blush. "I appreciate it." With a final nod and a dismissive grunt from Lovino, Arthur scurried back to Francis.

When the Brit opened the door, Francis was on the verge of dozing off again. He did force himself to wakefulness when he saw Arthur however. “Ah... what did Antonio say... and why are you so red, _lapin_?”

"He can spare us 900 as well," Arthur replied, ignoring the other question. He sat on the bed, careful not to disturb Francis. "Sleep, love," Arthur instructed gently, stroking Francis's cheek and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Francis studied Arthur’s face for a moment longer. “Was he naked?”

"WHY ARE YOU ASKING A QUESTION LIKE THAT?!?"

Francis laughed, slightly, “You are red, would not tell me why, had just seen Antonio and I happen to know he occasionally forgets his clothes when he answers the door. But we are all men, _cheri_ , there’s no need to get so worked up because of that.” Arthur huffed and rolled off the bed.

"Go to sleep, wanker!" Arthur huffed. "I'm going to go see-" He stopped himself from saying Peter's name. Began to say Alfred, but once again stopped. "Matthew," Arthur said tightly. "I'm off to see Matthew."

Now Francis’ breath hitched and he nodded stiffly, turning away from the Briton as he headed for the door. Before he closed it however, he heard Francis speak. “I... tell him that I...” he trailed off a moment, then spoke again. “Make sure that he is well.” Arthur closed the door. He took two steps before faltering and leaning against the wall.

' _They're gone_ ,' Arthur though dismally. _'My two precious boys.'_ Matthew was all he had left. Arthur straightened up, and set off to Matthew's shared room, hoping to find the Canadian.

When he knocked on the door of the room he knew Matthew to be in, it was Gilbert who answered the door. The albino’s eyebrow rose and he opened the door a bit wider before looking at Matthew who was glancing up curiously from a book he was reading on the bed.

“Oh, Arthur,” Matthew said quietly, giving a small wisp of a smile, “Come in.”

"Hello Matthew," Arthur greeted. "Well, um...yes. I..." Arthur shook his head, a small smile on his face. "I have nothing else better to do," Arthur admitted, smiling sheepishly. "So I thought, perhaps, I'd pay you a visit."

Matthew nodded and set his book aside, patting the bed next to him for Arthur to come sit with him. Gilbert muttered something and left the room as Matthew turned to face Arthur. “So, um, you’re not too hung over from yesterday, then?”

"Not too much," Arthur mused. "I can hold my liquor well." He blinked, and then scrunched his eyebrows together. "Why?" Arthur questioned. "Did I do something strange?"

Matthew chewed his lip a little before answering. “You were... rougher? I guess? Um... you just seemed a bit off... and you smoked... and let Gilbert kind of touch you- not in a bad way! Just, I don’t know, Gilbert likes to hold onto people when he’s excited and normally I don’t think you’d let him do that... but nothing in particular that I know of. But you drank a lot, so I wondered if you were hung over.” Matthew flushed suddenly and looked down at his hands before mumbling, “Um... and how... how is F-Francis?”  Arthur pondered this before answering.

"He's sick," Arthur snickered. "Well, he was this morning, heaved up everything this morning. I left him in the room sleeping." Arthur bit his lip. "I suppose I should probably explain my behavior last night, hmm?" Arthur chuckled shyly.

Matthew coughed slightly and flushed. “Well, i-if you want to, um, I wouldn’t mind hearing the reason...”

"Well I was a troubled youth," Arthur sighed. "Scott was just beginning to give me a bit of breathing space, and I ran wild with my new found freedom. I drank to my heart's content; I nicked his ciggys, picked fights over the most ridiculous things. To tell the truth, I wanted to be like him in my youth. I figured no one would harm me if I was as strong as my brother. I don't know what my upper officers thought of me, I was already in the Navy at that time, but they let me keep my job. Probably out of pity."  
Arthur hummed.

"I think I was consecutively drunk for one year straight, can't remember much of my 16th year," Arthur snickered. "But I was foul, loved wagering and risking my life. I was such a rebel, I'm surprised Scott actually allowed it. But that was probably because I paid him more respect as a teen. I didn't begin to settle down until I found out my Mum was pregnant. I was ecstatic, but when I began to think of my younger sibling, I realized I could harm it, even if I wasn't physically harming it. I always hated watching my brothers drink and smoke as a child, but I was willingly doing it as a teen just so that I could be like my siblings. I didn't want to subject the child to that, so I became something of a role model for the child, for Peter. I can honestly say, it was hard. The last time I had actual rum was when Peter was three. He began crying when he saw me drinking. I never touched a bottle, although I was sorely tempted. Alfred was a major help, always making snarky remarks when he saw my gaze linger on the spirits for too long."  
Arthur turned to Matthew. "Your Alfred never answered when I questioned him, but did your parents drink?"

Matthew shrugged, “I don’t really know... I guess so... I don’t really remember them. I was only three or four when they died. Alfred told me they loved us a lot, but they still might’ve drank. A lot of the adults did in the town Al and I grew up in, so they might have.” Arthur sighed.

"I don't know Matthew," the Englishman said softly. "I think Peter's absence is getting to me now. I didn't want to believe it; I kept thinking Peter would jump out and laugh. But they really did take him."

Matthew’s eyes widened and suddenly Arthur found himself tightly held against the Canadian’s chest. “We’ll get him back though, it’s okay, we can get _him_ back... at least...” Matthew’s voice suddenly choked up.

"I know we'll get him back," Arthur whispered, his voice darkening. "Even if I have to kill every single one of his captors, I will get him back." The dark emotion was gone, and Arthur found himself crying into Matthew's chest.

The two sat like that for a time, holding each other until the sobs petered out and they were left in a heavy silence broken only when Gilbert opened the door again, holding a tray of food.

“Hey! Done crying yet?” Gilbert stopped at Matthew’s red eyed glare and coughed awkwardly, “Um, I mean, I brought comfort food!”

  
Arthur snorted in amusement, but sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Thank you."

“Hey no prob! Kesesese!” Gilbert laughed and handed over the plate. The two began to eat. “Oh yeah, I stopped by Franny’s room, he says if he feels okay by noon he wants to go to the market to sell some clothes and the perfume he hasn’t used yet and see how much that could bring in. He uses the expensive stuff, so it might be worth a couple hundred, he isn’t sure. But yeah, he’ll manage.”

Matthew sniffed, “Can’t you give them more, to help out?”

Gilbert sighed, “We talked about this. If I toss up any more Luddy’ll have my head about the budget.”

“But surely he’d understand!”

“Maybe, but we DO actually have to pay for some things on that ship. We haven’t had a good haul since Arthur’s ship and honestly? We’ve spent most of that.” Gilbert gave Arthur an awkward grin, “What can I say? We like to live the high life.” Arthur smiled back.

"Yes, I know what you mean," the Englishman said. "Wish I had taken more money with me when I left England."

“Yeah, me too! Then we could’ve spent more of it! Kesesesese!” Gilbert laughed again, even to Matthew’s disapproving look.  Arthur snorted, and then began laughing along.

Matthew sighed when the laughter died down, “I hope that Peter is safe, wherever he is.” Arthur sobered considerably at that comment.

"Me too," the Briton sighed, and then chuckled. "Although I feel bad for them if Peter breaks free. As I might've mentioned before, that child is impeccable at sneaking about and does go after revenge if he really wants to."

Matthew nibbled on his lip before speaking. “Yes but... how much revenge could he give to such people? Peter’s many things, but he isn’t a killer. He’s not even cruel, really. I honestly can’t think of anything he could do that such people would find bad for them...”

"Oh no, he's not like that," Arthur snorted. "That boy's still innocent despite the life he's been given. No, but he'll sure find away to annoy the living hell out of his captors. He's mischievous when vengeful, nothing more."

Matthew winced, “W-well I hope he doesn’t get himself into trouble because of that, then...” Arthur hummed.

Gilbert sighed, “So, are we going to go see if Francis is okay now or something?”

"Well, I suppose," Arthur sighed, standing up and stretching.

As it ended up, Arthur went to Francis alone as Matthew quickly made up some excuse about wanting to ‘freshen up’ before going out that day. When the Brit entered the room, he found Francis in what appeared to be deep sleep until Arthur went to kiss the man’s forehead and ended up shackled to Francis’ body by very persistent arms and had an equally persistent tongue practically rammed down his throat in happy greeting. After much struggling the two broke apart and Francis sent Arthur a cheeky grin.

“ _Bonjour lapin_ ,” Francis said pleasantly.

"I see you're feeling better," Arthur huffed, his face red.

“Hmm... a bit, _oui_ ,” The Frenchman stretched, “So, I suppose I should get dressed then, _non_?” Francis rose, completely naked, and started bustling around getting his clothes in order. Arthur sighed, shaking his head and sitting up. He glanced in the mirror, grimacing when he saw the bags under his eyes. At least his eyebrows were bushy and normal again.

“Alright, let’s go _cheri_ ,” Francis smiled, fully dressed, and led the way out of the room. It took about an hour to gather up all the clothing, perfume and various other trinkets Francis was willing to part with in the effort to collect 1000 gold pieces and set off to the market to set up a stall. By offering a necklace and silver ring they were able to rent the stall space of another merchant for a few hours, but although business went relatively well considering their wares and the brief time they had to sell them, they were only able to sell a few bottles of perfume, a collection of rings and a spare compass. Altogether they made roughly 250 of the 1000 they required, not nearly enough. Francis took Arthur’s hand to calm him and suggested that they try to at least take the clothing back to the shop they had been in before.

At first the woman refused to take back Arthur’s party clothes, exclaiming in Spanish that she did not give refunds. However, upon hearing about Peter’s kidnapping and seeing Arthur’s tears as proof of their sincerity, she sighed and allowed a refund of 90%, allowing for the cost of cleaning and additional tailoring required. So they made back 180 gold pieces, leaving 570 to collect.

“We still have two days,” Francis reasoned, “If we use more effort in selling things... or...” Francis trailed off for a moment and then cleared his throat, “Or perhaps if we... if we sell a slave...” he looked at Arthur, wondering what the reaction to such a suggestion would be.

"Sell who we can spare," Arthur whispered hoarsely. By god, he didn't care anymore. He just wanted his beloved brother back. And he was trying desperately not to be violent.

Francis nodded. “ _Oui_. I will need to be discreet about it, after the incident with Yao my crew is growing concerned, I’m afraid, as to their security aboard my ship. We will not openly parade about it, but if someone asks about what occurred we will have to simply tell the truth. If we lie that they ran off and my lie is later discovered... it would not be good to lose the trust of my crew.” Francis sighed, and closed his eyes to think. “Perhaps... ah perhaps that one deck swab with the hazel eyes... such a cute man would turn at least 500... we could have more if he was a virgin too but _hon hon_ he certainly isn’t that...” Francis’ eyes widened and he coughed slightly, “Er, though that was a while ago now, so we might be able to sell him as ‘slightly used’.”

"Okay," Arthur sighed. "Just...be careful, okay? Don't do anything to cause mutiny."

Francis sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Believe me, _cher_ , that is the last thing I need right now. But it is getting late once again. We should return to the inn. I will ask around the tavern discreetly to learn where I might sell our hazel-eyed boy. Luckily most of my crew sleeps on the ship when we are in port; I shall send someone to fetch him for me before daybreak.”

"Okay," Arthur sighed, "Let's go."

The two men made it back to the inn as the sun was setting. Matthew greeted Arthur as they entered the tavern but pointedly ignored Francis, leaving the Frenchman looking rather broken-hearted as he left the group to ask about local slave brothels. Matthew meanwhile took Arthur to a table close to the bar.

Once sitting, Matthew asked, “So, did you get enough gold to cover the ransom?”

"No, we only made 430," Arthur sighed, sorely tempted to order a bottle of rum as his eyes flickered over to the alcohol. "We still need 570."

Matthew’s eyes widened, “But... that’s still a lot! Er, I-I mean, we can raise that still though... can’t we? I-I mean we’ve put together so much already! Jacques and Claude agreed to salary cuts to pay for the silver and everything! They were requested especially by the... the captain to...” Matthew sighed. “Anyway, I’m sure Francis will find a way to get the rest of it, do you know what you’re going to do?”

Arthur sighed. "Francis mentioned selling some of the crewmembers as slaves for more money. I'm just worried though."

Matthew’s eyes widened. “W-what?” the Canadian whispered, “H-he’s doing what?” His eyes watered, “Wh-who?”

"He mentioned a deck swab," Arthur replied. "I wasn't paying attention. Although I doubt he'll sell someone we care about."

“Why not?” Matthew said darkly, his eyes downcast, “He already gave away the person I cared about the most. Why wouldn’t he do it if he got money out of the deal?” Arthur banged his hands down on the tabled, jumping at his own sign of fury.

"H-He's a bastard, but he didn't mean to," Arthur said slowly, as if to convince himself more. "Alfred. Damn that boy! He always has to play hero, he doesn't know when to quit! I-It was partly my own fault; I shouldn't have let him go!" Tears were welling in Arthur's eyes. He buried his head in his hands, breathing in and out shakily.

Matthew also jumped when Arthur’s hands hit the table and bit his lip when the Brit finished speaking. “I-I’m sorry,” the Canadian said quietly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

"It's fine," Arthur lied. "I'm fine. I'm fine." He looked up at Matthew, smiling weakly through the tears falling down his face. "I'm...I'm here....right?"

Matthew nearly gasped at the sight of Arthur’s tears and practically shot out of his seat to run around the table and enfold the Brit into his arms. “ _Oui, oui_ you are here, you are here...” he stroked Arthur’s hair, babbling soothing words in both English and French, “It’s fine... y-you’re fine so...” Matthew sniffed, “Don’t cry, please.” Around the tavern they were drawing a few looks but most assumed the weeping man had merely had too much to drink and ignored them.

Arthur clung to Matthew, trying desperately not to break down as he clung to the Canadian. "D-Don't leave me Matthew," Arthur begged. "I-I can't take it! I'll leave if you do, disappear like she did."

Matthew’s breathing quickened and he held on tighter. “I... I’m not going anywhere, eh. I won’t leave you, I promise I won’t, so don’t worry. And we’ll have Peter back soon as well. There’s nothing to worry about.” It was at that moment from across the room that Francis saw this scene and wasted no time in hurrying over. Matthew didn’t notice the Frenchman until suddenly both he and Arthur were wrapped in his embrace at which time the Canadian abruptly stiffened.

“What is wrong? Oh Arthur, we will get Peter back, hush,” Francis tried to soothe.

“Let go of me,” Matthew said sharply and Francis broke away as if stung.

“Ah, Matthew, I... I only wish to comfort dear Arthur, it’s not-“

“Well he wasn’t asking for you!” Matthew snapped. Arthur peeked out from Matthew's chest, looking at Francis. His eyes themselves seemed to be apologizing, asking for some kind of forgiveness. He turned back and once again buried his face into Matthew's chest.

Francis frowned, a little, before clearing his throat. “Very well, I will... leave you both alone, _non_?” Giving an awkward attempt at a smile that turned into more of a grimace, the Frenchman walked away again. Matthew let out a shuddering breath and ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“I just can’t forgive him,” Matthew whispered into Arthur’s hair. Though whether he spoke to himself or to Arthur he wasn’t sure. Arthur sighed, looking up at Matthew.

"You can, but not now," Arthur whispered softly. "Alfred will find a way to come back to you. You're all he's ever wanted, he'll find and use someone else to find you."

“Use?” Matthew looked startled for a moment, and then stared at Arthur. “Surely you don’t believe Alfred was... was _using_ you?” Arthur blinked, and then turned his face away.

"He admitted it straight for the beginning," Arthur said softly. "I grew too attached, thinking I could make him my son. But yes, he was using me. He'll find another to use, another to help him get back to you."

Matthew bit his lip and shook his head violently. “No, no, no! You’re wrong. Maybe at first he was using you, at first but... but I saw him with you, Arthur. He loved you... still loves you as a father. He does! He never spoke ill of you, only about how much you helped him and how much you meant to him... he loves you. If he used you at the beginning, he wasn’t using you by the end. He couldn’t...” Matthew’s eyes filled with tears that he tried unsuccessfully to blink back. “Alfred... Alfred always wants to do the heroic thing. And as he would say... heroes don’t use people. That’s what villains do. And my brother never does what he thinks a villain would do.”

"Did he ever tell you why he wants to be a hero so badly?" Arthur mused.

Matthew cocked his head to one side. “No... not really, I never asked... but I always thought it was so he could protect me... maybe...” Arthur only buried his head into Matthew's chest again.

Matthew looked at Arthur with worry. “W-what? Did... did he tell you?”

"He did," Arthur replied. "But I don't think you'd like to know. That and I think it's something Alfred would much rather keep hidden from you."

Matthew’s breathing quickened. “But... but now you’ve brought it up... I-I want to know! Please I... I might never...” Matthew swallowed, “I might never get to a-ask him... please it’s something I... I really want to know!” Arthur was silent then straightened up, taking Matthew's face in his hands.

"No matter what, don’t let my words change the way you see Alfred," Arthur said seriously. "Your brother is the most selfless person I have ever met. He takes the burdens of others onto his shoulders with a smile on his face. He can find the good in people, even those that he claims as 'villains'. Above all, your brother was, and still is, devoted entirely to you. Do not think differently of him, do you understand?"

Matthew looked surprised at Arthur’s actions and shivered slightly. “W-why would I...? No I... I know my brother loves me, I could never think any differently! I understand.” Matthew stared into Arthur’s eyes, waiting.

"Matthew," Arthur said, his face blank and his voice controlled. "Alfred killed your parents. He was so infuriated by them constantly forgetting you. You were his only friend, and a wondering brother growing up. He looked up to you Matthew. One day, Alfred told your parents he was going to cook them a special lunch. Your parents only laughed and agreed. Alfred sprinkled rat poison in the food, and your parents became ill. Eventually they died. You were much too young to remember it at all. After that, Alfred swore to become a 'hero' to make up for being a 'villain.' "

As Arthur spoke, Matthew grew steadily paler, repeatedly swallowing a lump in his throat. “W-what?” His eyes began to fill with tears, “Y-you... w-why would you say that? W-why would you l-lie to me like that?” Matthew drew away from Arthur, shaking his head slowly and sniffing, “A-Alfie would n-never... m-my parents loved us! B-both of us! Alfred told me! HE TOLD ME!” Matthew screamed, “Alfred wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t! Why would you say that? He never used you. What did he do to... to make you want to say such things! Why?” Matthew’s whole body was shaking violently and now... NOW they were attracting attention from those sitting in the tavern. Arthur looked as if he had been slapped.

"I'm not lying!" Arthur replied, looking truly hurt. "I told you it was something you wouldn't want to hear! Matthew, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please believe me, I never meant to hurt you. You wanted to know, so I told the truth. Believe it or not, that's your choice. But I'm so sorry."

Matthew stood frozen, shaking a moment longer before tears started running down his face. He turned on his heel and ran out of the tavern at top speed, leaving Arthur to sit alone. Francis too had left the tavern after the conflict with his surrogate son.  Arthur sat, ignoring the stares and whispers around him.

"They always leave," Arthur whispered, his eyes quickly welling as the gravity of what he had said hit him. Truth be told, he hadn't believed it the first time either, but the lost look in teary blue eyes had convinced him. Alfred had warned him, but of course Arthur ignored. He had made a fool of himself and was left alone. "Scott," Arthur wailed, his shoulders shaking. He buried his face in his hands, trying and failing to quell his sobs. Arthur felt so alone, alone enough to wish for his poisonous eldest brother. "Scott, please. Find me."

He sat that way nearly an hour before Lovino walked into the tavern and spotted him. It was the surly Italian who wrapped his small cloak around him and did not ask any questions as he brought him upstairs except for one. “Do you... damn it; do you want to stay in my room? I’ll make Antonio sleep on the floor if you do.”

"I-I don't want to impose," Arthur said quietly. "Y-You've already helped me so much."

“No... damn it Arthur, it’s fine,” Lovino said gruffly and pulled Arthur into his room. Antonio was already on the bed, reading.

“Oh, Lovi! Uh, isn’t that-“

“He’s staying with us,” Lovino huffed.

Antonio blinked and frowned. “But... Francis...”

Lovino glared, making the Spanish man squeak slightly, “Go and tell that wine bastard that we’re taking care of him then, he needs some time apart, okay?”

Antonio whimpered. “But... but Lovi, where will he sleep? There’s only one bed and-“

“You’re sleeping on the floor.”

“Oh...” With a heavy sigh, Antonio rolled off the bed and padded to the door as Arthur was pulled further inside by Lovino, “I’ll just... go tell Francis then... I guess.”

“Yeah, just remember you’re on the floor.”

“... right... Lovi...” Sighing again, the Spaniard disappeared through the door and Lovino looked at Arthur a moment before swearing.

“ _Chigi_ , uh, I guess you can borrow a night shirt from me, we’re about the same size.” Lovino rummaged around in his bag and pulled out a green shirt with a tiny tomato sewn near the hem. “Um, Antonio got it for me. You can wear it.”

"Thank you," Arthur said, his eyes downcast, just as they had been during Lovino's interaction with Antonio. He pulled his own shirt off and slipped on Lovino's night shirt. "Y-You didn't have to," Arthur added, his voice even lower and tinier than before.

Lovino flushed slightly and shook his head. “W-well I... I can’t just leave you out there to... to suffer through whatever you’re going through. I-I mean I know part of it anyway but... yeah I’m not...” Lovino groaned and looked away, staring hard at the wall. “I just kind of think... w-well we’re kind of in a similar situation a-and if we can’t support each other then... well... a-anyway, go to bed, bastard!”

"Thank you," Arthur whispered. It didn't seem like enough to the Englishman, simple words to express gratitude, but it seemed to be enough for the Italian. Arthur climbed into bed, making sure to stay on his side so not to startle Lovino or make him uncomfortable.

Lovino tsked, but made sure the lights were out before getting onto the bed as well, also remaining on his side. The two lay side by side in the dark for a while before Lovino growled and muttered very softly, though Arthur still heard it. “What’s keeping that tomato bastard, anyway?”

"Bet they're having a pity party," Arthur muttered. "Trying to figure us out, I bet."

Lovino snorted. “Yeah. As if those stupid bastards could ever figure anything out. Well... maybe Francis can figure out some things but I don’t know... he’s just creepy! And Antonio’s just a big idiot, he never understands anything. If Francis and Gilbert weren’t around he probably wouldn’t even be a pirate! Though I guess...” Lovino trailed off for a moment before finishing, “I guess he might still be a sailor. He does love travelling around. Damn it.” The Italian sighed deeply. “Fucking bastard. If Francis wasn’t so tied up with you lately I’d think he was trying and succeeding in getting into Antonio’s oblivious pants. Wouldn’t be the first time, even if he hasn’t done it lately.”

Arthur snorted. "That doesn't surprise me," he sighed.

Lovino fumbled around a moment before flipping over onto his stomach. “God I... i-if Feli didn’t want to stay, I would’ve run away from these assholes ages ago! Fucking... damn it. And don’t think I wouldn’t! Antonio’s just... so... I-I can’t believe he made me wear a dress,” Lovino finished in a mumble. Arthur smiled slightly, a thought racing through his mind that he shoved away.

Lovino sighed and turned to look over at Arthur, “I’m kind of... jealous of your brother, actually. Peter, you know he... he really loves you and looks up to you and does what you tell him... I wish my brother was like that... was still like that...”

"Sometimes it feels like he obeys just so I could lower my guard and be surprised whenever he does something that seems out of character," Arthur hummed. "But I suppose the reason he's like that is because I sort of isolated him from others, always afraid of losing him. Ironic that the first time I give him freedom he gets kidnapped."

Lovino snorted, “Guess it is. I tried to keep Feli away from other people since he’s such an airhead but he was always too friendly with everyone. So... outgoing. And when we ended up with Antonio, Feli ended up in the kitchens and I... I... w-well Antonio was originally going to take Feli for that but I swore to do anything he asked if he didn’t. Kind of similar to you, I guess. _Chigi_ , how the fuck does this happen?”

"I find myself thinking that too," Arthur sighed. "I suspect it's because we're trying to give them things we couldn't have? My brothers used to say the sacrifice of a happy family was the eldest child, which was why our household wasn't a good one, I suppose."

Lovino sighed. “I certainly feel like a sacrifice. _Chigi_ ,” Lovino muttered again, turning away from Arthur. “Well, goodnight I guess, bastard. And uh, d-don’t go cuddling up with me at night thinking I’m that froggie freak, got it?”

"Got it," Arthur sighed. "Goodnight Lovino."

\-- --

The two seemed to fall asleep within an hour, during which time Antonio still did not return, and awoke the next morning when sunlight filled the gaps behind the curtains at the window. Arthur felt a comforting weight across his chest and blearily opened his eyes to see that, against his own warnings, Lovino had curled up next to him in his sleep and had thrown an arm across him. When the Italian stirred, Arthur wisely feigned sleep until Lovino squeaked and shot away from him so fast that the bed creaked and the blanket was pulled off of the Briton.

Arthur let out a realistic groan and opened one eye, still blurred by sleep. "Morning," he yawned, sitting up as he did.

“Uh, yeah, morning bastard,” Lovino muttered and immediately started looking around the floor. He scowled and flushed a little. “The hell... d-did Antonio ever come back last night?”

Arthur glanced at the floor, eyebrows knitting in worry. "He didn't," Arthur whispered in awe.

Lovino bit his lip for a moment, his widening eyes displaying his own worry. “I-I... I’ve got to look for him.” The Italian squirmed out of the covers and began to get clothes on in record time. “ _Chigi_! What the hell... did he really spend the night with Francis? Th-that...” Lovino couldn’t seem to finish.

"I'll help you look for him," Arthur offered, getting out of bed and beginning to change into his clothes from yesterday.

Lovino nodded, looking very distracted. When the two finished they began to walk down the long hallway to Francis and Arthur’s room. Lovino raised a hand to knock, at first, but then shook his head violently and twisted the doorknob, flinging the door open.

“WHAT ARE YOU TWO IDIOTS- oh,” Lovino squeaked when he saw Francis looking very ill under the covers with a cold cloth on his forehead. Antonio was holding a glass of water with a straw, obviously fully dressed but with dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Oh, Lovi,” Antonio greeted with a small smile, “I’m sorry I didn’t come back, when I got here last night Francis was drinking heavily...” the Spaniard’s face darkened, “Very heavily. He’s not feeling well, now. Uh, actually, I’m not entirely sure if he can hear us.”

Arthur gasped in shock, panicking as he raced to Francis. "Damn it!" Arthur wailed. "Why the hell would you do this?!"

Lovino winced. “Damn, this... are you sure he was just drinking, bastard?”

Antonio shrugged, “I, uh, I think so. That’s what he was doing when I got here anyway, I think he’s very dehydrated... and delirious, but if he doesn’t get more lucid, I’m not sure how to get water into him...”

Slowly, very slowly, one of Francis’ eyes cracked open, though it was hazy. “ _J-Jeanne_?” he whispered, barely audible. Arthur was stone still before smiling.

"Yes," Arthur whispered, his voice filled with heartbreak although he looked visibly cheerful. "Yes, Francis, love. Please. W-Why?" Arthur rested his forehead against Francis's, still shakily smiling as his  
eyes filled with tears again. "You're here, Francis. You're here."

“Shit, I-“ Lovino shook his head suddenly, “I-I’m going to get help! Damn it, he needs a doctor or something!” The Italian bolted from the room, leaving Antonio to stand awkwardly as Arthur wept over Francis.

“Jeanne _..._ _Je suis tellement désolé, je n'ai pas réussi, j'ai tout raté, je suis désolé. Attendez ...”_ Francis shivered violently and coughed up bile. Antonio rushed to the Frenchman’s side to help push him up so he wouldn’t choke on it. “ _N-non_ ,” Francis shivered again, “ _Vous êtes ... Arthur ... ma chère, vous êtes ici ...?”_ His voice was very soft, but Arthur gasped when he heard it.

Arthur was silent before his eyes cleared of some dark emotion that had gathered. " _Oui_ ," Arthur whispered. " _Je suis ici_. I'm here." Arthur kissed Francis gently on the forehead, his hand intertwining with  
Francis's. "Don't you dare leave me Francis," Arthur murmured. "Or I'll be lost."

Francis shuddered and drew a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around Arthur’s. “ _Oui_ I... I am sorry, Arthur... I wasn’t thinking... _non_... I was thinking...” Francis’ eyes teared up. “I have failed to... to make _mon_ Mathieu happy, failed to protect our children... and... Arthur...” Francis’ eyes suddenly widened, “Th-that boy, the deck swab, I d-didn’t...” Francis tried to rise, but fell against Arthur, now trembling openly, “M-my head...”

Antonio jumped suddenly and hurried forward to push the water close to Francis’ mouth. “Here _amigo_ , this should help!”

“ _M-merci,_ ” Francis mumbled, trying to drink a little water before gagging.

It was then that the door flew open and all eyes flew up in shock to see Matthew standing there, eyes wide open and breathing hard. He looked at Francis in horror, seeing the man choke on the water and letting out a short yell before running to him, flinging his arms around the man’s neck, making Francis gasp in surprise as his cheeks flushed red in his quest to get air into his lungs. Matthew was weeping openly.

“ _Papa!_ ” he wailed, “ _Papa, je suis désolé,_ L-Lovino said... h-he said you were t-trying to drink yourself to... to death!” Matthew swallowed and sobbed, “P-please I... I don’t want you to... to die I just... I c-can’t... i-it’s not... is it my fault?”

Francis finally managed to gasp a little air into his lungs and wrapped his arms shakily around the boy, looking completely stunned. “I... _n-non_ Mathieu, it is not your fault.”

In the doorway Gilbert stood sharing an awkward look with Antonio, unsure how much help they should offer here. “Er, kesese, um... so Lovino just kind of ran into us on the way, but he’s going to get an actual doctor now,” the albino looked at Arthur, “How bad is he, really?”

"Not good," Arthur replied. "From what I've seen, he’s dehydrated, sick, and a little delusional. Antonio is the one who stayed here all night. I was with Lovino." Arthur looked guilty, looking down at Francis and Matthew. "I should have been here," he sighed.

“Ah, don’t feel too bad Artie,” Gilbert shrugged, “It’s not the first time he’s gotten this bad. Tony and I’ve taken care of him before.”

Antonio nodded happily. “ _Si_! Though this time I think he may recover faster, since he has his lover and son with him to help!”

Matthew flushed now and bit his lip a little. “I... I’m still upset over Alfred but...” he looked at Francis and shivered, “I don’t... I don’t want to lose you too and... and I believe you really didn’t want to do it.”

Francis’ eyes widened and he gave a weak smile. “I really must be delusional, _non_?”

Matthew shook his head. “ _Non_! _Papa_...” Matthew hesitantly reached out to run his fingers over Francis’ cheek. “Please don’t... don’t do this again...”

Francis looked slowly between Matthew and Arthur, and then coughed again. “I think that would be best... for all our sakes, _non_?”

Matthew burst into tears again against Francis’ chest as the Frenchman rubbed gentle circles on his son’s back, asking him to hush. Arthur gripped Francis's hand, kneeling close to him and kissing his temple. The Englishman was unsure of how Matthew would react to him after the events of the previous night's occurrence. So he stuck close to Francis, wary of Matthew.

At last the Canadian’s head rose and he found himself making dead on eye contact with Arthur. Matthew trembled a moment before tears flooded his eyes again. He could not speak, instead settling for lying on Francis’ chest as the Frenchman took shallow breaths. Gilbert finally crossed the room and rubbed Matthew’s back as he looked at Francis.

“Can’t believe you tried to off yourself with alcohol again,” the Prussian said casually.

Francis let out a mirthless laugh, which quickly turned into a cough, “I was not trying to off myself... though admittedly that may have been the result had Antonio not stopped me when he did.”

Arthur looked away shamefully, hiding his face in Francis's long hair as tears pricked at his eyes. "S-So why did you do it?" Arthur demanded, his voice quivering a bit.

Francis’ head lolled in Arthur’s direction and his eyes became half-lidded. “I was not actively committing suicide. I was drinking... heavily I suppose...” Francis sighed, “But that is what one does when one is... alone and unhappy. I told myself I would only have one drink after I left you and Matthew, then that I would simply need another... which seemed to remind me of everything else I had done and...” Francis shrugged, slightly, “I am unsure how long it was before Antonio came... actually I don’t remember Antonio coming, just seeing him when my eyes opened.

Antonio jumped, “Oh, you COULD hear me! And see me... I couldn’t tell since you did not focus on anything, _amigo_.”

“I did not seem to have the energy to move, _non_?”

Arthur's guilt intensified, and he kissed Francis's forehead again. “I'm sorry," Arthur whispered. "It was my fault, I made you upset."

Francis’ eyes widened, “ _N-non_ , you didn’t I-“ Francis eyes shifted to Matthew who looked just as guilty. Francis shook his head, “It is no one’s fault. No one’s. Come,” Francis weakly reached out to pull Arthur closer to him. “N-now I need to ask... a favour. I... I’m not sure how long I’ll be like this. W-we need to get Peter back, I ask... _non_ , I beg you Mathieu, please take Arthur, and Gilbert, and find the hazel-eyed deck swab, or someone else as pretty, really, and get Gilbert to help you bring them to the nearest slave brothel to sell them. Get as high a price as you can.”

Matthew nearly choked, “B-but _Papa_ we can’t-“

“We need to get Peter back! Is that one deck swab more important to you?” Francis asked sharply before coughing again. Gilbert cleared his throat over Matthew’s shoulder.

“Yo Birdie, I think that’s the best idea we’ve got,” the albino admitted, “And since I don’t know this guy, you need to point him out to us.”

Matthew whimpered, glancing at Arthur briefly before turning back to Francis and nodding slowly, “There is... no choice then... I-I’ll do it.” Arthur nodded, keeping his mouth shut.

"We'll do that," Arthur agreed. "Just get better, okay love? I need you healthy again. Matthew needs you healthy again. No one can stand seeing you like this, just get better. We'll collect the money for Peter."

With a few more kisses and a last embrace, the three parted and Matthew gestured for Arthur to follow himself and Gilbert quietly out of the room. Antonio would stay to care for Francis until Lovino returned with a doctor. Their first stop was the tavern. There were several members from all three pirate crews scattered about, but Matthew said he could not see the man Francis spoke of.

“What’s his name, then?” Gilbert asked.

“Phillipe,” Matthew said quietly, “Phillipe Tupin. He has hazel eyes as Francis said, and chocolate brown, curly hair. He’s a little shorter than me, with, um, very smooth skin, o-or so Francis told me, once.”

Gilbert snorted. “I’ll bet. Okay, so let’s ask around to see if anyone’s spotted him!”

"Agreed," Arthur sighed, nodding. He went about asking for Phillipe, getting frustrated when his search came up fruitless.

When the three regrouped, it was only Gilbert who managed to find out anything of substance. It seemed that young Phillipe had been asking around to see where he could purchase a new pair of shoes since his were worn through. He had the names of a few cobblers that the other sailors had suggested to the boy, and as this was their only lead it was where they had to start.

“Which one do you want to start with?” Matthew asked Arthur.

"We'll start with the nearest," Arthur suggested. "From there we'll continue on until we've searched each one."

There were murmurs of agreement and the three set off in search of the man. The first cobbler did mention that the boy had stopped by to check his stock but had determined he was too costly so he had been sent to the cobbler on the edge of town, who was the cheapest. Thanking the cobbler, the three set off to the new destination.

“Er, Gilbert?” Matthew asked suddenly, “How are we going to get Phillipe to go with us?”

“Oh that’s easy,” Gilbert shrugged, “We’ll just tell him that Francis wants to see him and we’re supposed to take him there. Then we bring him to the brothel, lock him in a room and then negotiate price!”

“W-what if that doesn’t work?” Matthew asked worriedly.

“Then we knock him out and bring him there. I don’t want that to be plan A though, cause it might damage his pretty skin and drive the price down.”

"And he won't be suspicious if we lead him to a brothel and not the inn after telling him Francis wishes to see him?" Arthur asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Gilbert cleared his throat a little and scratched his head, “Well, uh... not really. I mean, I know he hasn’t done it since you’ve shown up, but brothels are typically where Francis would spend most of his time while in port. Hell, he’s had meetings with me and Antonio while he was balls deep if you know what I mean...”

Matthew flushed brightly. “W-what? That’s just...”

Gilbert shrugged, “It’s how he rolls. Anyway, I think it’s a plan.”

Arthur sighed, shaking his head and muttering to himself. "Let's go through with it I suppose." Arthur said at last.

As it happened, it was as the cobbler’s shop came into view that Matthew threw his hands out to stop Arthur and Gilbert from moving forward, having seen the door to the shop open and their hazel-eyed quarry stumbled out onto the street, his feet clad in cheap, but new, footwear.

“That’s him!” Matthew said needlessly, as both Gilbert and Arthur could tell the boy perfectly matched Matthew’s previous description and even Arthur had to admit the boy was rather stunning. If his hair was a touch longer and he had more of a chest he had a good chance of passing for a pretty woman.

“Kesese, damn! How come I never noticed him on Franny’s ship before?” Gilbert asked, looking a little annoyed.

Matthew shrugged, “Well, um, most of Francis’ crew is rather good looking... I’ve noticed... so I’m not really surprised you missed this one. Also he’s fairly new, um, he’s only been around a month longer than Arthur.”

Gilbert’s eyebrow rose. “Wow, Francis got bored of that one pretty fast, I don’t remember him mentioning him at all.”

“Not a lot to mention about him,” Matthew shrugged as they spied on the boy walking down the street, “I think Francis only was... was ‘with’ him about three or four times. I guess he just didn’t end up really appealing to Francis as much as the captain thought he would when he kidnapped him from that French naval vessel. I don’t think Phillipe minded the pirate life so much though, once Francis got bored of him. I... I really feel bad that we’re doing this to him...”

Gilbert sighed and placed a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “You know, you don’t need to stick around now. You’ve pointed him out; you can go if you don’t feel up to it.”

Matthew shook his head, “No he... he might get suspicious about things if it’s you two he... he won’t suspect me of leading him anywhere dangerous.”

"Well," Arthur muttered, clearing his throat. No matter how many times he was reminded, it still stung to know that Francis had fucked around long before him. "Let's go get him, shall we?"

With two nods in agreement, the three men approached Phillipe from behind. The young man was startled by them, but seemed soothed to see Matthew with them, even though the Canadian looked a touch nervous. After Matthew stammered and failed to convey information, Gilbert quickly wrapped an arm around the brunette boy’s shoulders and told him that Francis wanted to talk to him about a special job opportunity. Phillipe hesitated at first, but then brightened at Matthew’s small, encouraging smile. Apparently the boy was rather trusting, which was possibly what got him into trouble with Francis in the first place. The Frenchman seemed to have a bit of a liking for innocence where he could get it.

When Phillipe saw the brothel, he stiffened somewhat but after Matthew insisted that Francis just wanted to talk to him, the boy gave a slow nod. Really, it all seemed too easy how he was led inside. Gilbert gave a nod to the man in charge as he nudged Matthew toward him, hustling Phillipe away as the boy looked back at Arthur and Matthew, looking wide eyed and suddenly a little afraid. Matthew’s face was now racked with guilt as the manager of the brothel looked at the remaining men.

Speaking in French, the manager said, “ _I assume that is the boy Francis Bonnefoy spoke to me yesterday about selling_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Matthew replied, in French as well, still looking a little upset.

“ _And he’s not a virgin, correct_?” The man went on.

“ _No_ ,” Matthew agreed quickly, “ _Though his only partner has been Francis, and only for a short period of time_!”

“ _Hmm,_ ” the man stroked his chin, “ _That’s odd, what’s wrong with him if Francis didn’t want him_?”

Matthew’s voice failed and he glanced at Arthur for help.

" _He found another young pretty keep_ ," Arthur replied, also speaking in French as he smiled. " _You know Francis, always flitting about from one cute thing to another. Chances are he'll get tired of that one as soon as he gets another one_."

“ _True_!” The manager laughed, “ _Most men who come in here have their favourites they always return to, but never Francis. He always liked to ‘sample the entire platter’ as he would say... odd that he didn’t stay for longer yesterday, but he really did seem like he was in a hurry. He hasn’t run into any trouble, has he_?”

Matthew shook his head quickly, “ _N-no sir, the captain only had... another engagement_.”

“ _I see_ ,” the manager stroked his chin, and then shrugged. “ _Alright, so for the boy... he is rather good looking and still looks pretty innocent. I’ll give you 200 gold pieces for him_.”

Matthew’s eyes widened. “ _That... that’s robbery! He’s worth at least 800_!”

The manager scoffed. “ _I’d never pay so high for a used whore! 250!”_

Matthew snorted a gleam suddenly in his eyes that Arthur hadn’t seen before. “ _Used? Hardly! His skin is as creamy and flawless as the day he was birthed! 750, I won’t go lower_!”

The manager shook his head, a gleam entering his own eyes. “ _His complexion is a touch pale and his eyes were filmy, he might be sick. Maybe I’ll revoke my offer_.”

Matthew smirked, “ _But how would that make the captain feel? Perhaps he, his friends and crew will take their business elsewhere in the future?”_ The manager frowned at this, and Matthew’s smirk widened, “ _Now think. I’ll lower a little, 725. For that you have our continued service whenever we are in port and of course we’ll recommend you to any fellows we meet heading your way. You’ll make your money back and then some in a fortnight_.”

The manager huffed, frowning but seeming to shift slightly. “ _I’ll give you 500 gold pieces. Take it or leave it”._

“ _650_ ,” Matthew challenged. The manager’s lips pursed for a moment before he sighed.

“ _Deal. Though only because Francis is a valued customer_ ,” the manager grunted before heading back to a safe to begin counting out the coins. Matthew gave a small squeak and was back to his meek self, giving Arthur a sad look.

“I feel terrible,” he said softly in English again as Gilbert waltzed into the room again.

“The kid’s locked in suite 17. Still thinks Francis is coming to talk to him,” the albino snorted in laughter, “Damn, won’t he be surprised!”

Arthur tried not to laugh, he really did. But he was 650 gold pieces closer to rescuing Peter! That and Gilbert's laughter was contagious. So, despite his best, Arthur laughed joyfully, smothering his laughter into a weak smile when Matthew glared.

"F-For the record," Arthur said sheepishly. "If it makes you feel any better, we could always pay to visit him and apologize?"

Matthew folded his arms and glared at Arthur as Gilbert went to count out the money again and sweep it into a bag for them. “No, I certainly don’t feel better! I hardly think an apology will make Phillipe feel better either. What kind of life have we sentenced him to? I know we needed to get Peter back but... but this way...” The Canadian shuddered as Gilbert returned, steering both his companions out of the brothel as the manager headed off to inspect his new whore personally.

“Birdie,” the Prussian spoke seriously, “It’s done now. We’re going to have to accept it. Anyway, we have more than enough gold now; we only needed... what was it? 600?”

“570, actually,” Matthew said, giving an ever-so-faint smile. Gilbert grinned.

“See? We did good. Let’s go to Francis. We’ll have Peter back in no time!”

Arthur nodded his agreement and followed the two back to the inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 16 Translations
> 
> Sin Gortaítear! - (Irish) That hurt!
> 
> Dydych chi ddim hyd yn oed yn gwybod beth i ddim yn dweud - (Welsh) You don't even know what I'm saying
> 
> Fóra! Agora! - (Gaelic) Off! Now!
> 
> Máis! - (Gaelic) More!
> 
> Níos mó! - (Irish) More!
> 
> Mwy! - (Welsh) More!
> 
> Damia chi! - (Welsh) Damn you!
> 
> Je suis si près - (French) I’m so close
> 
> Llongyfarchiadau - (Welsh) Congratulations
> 
> Vostede me fixo falar - (Gaelic) You made me speak
> 
> I ngach teanga - (Irish) In every language
> 
> ce que je sais - I know
> 
> Rydych yn llawer mwy o anghyfreithlon horny na fi! - (Welsh) You’re much more of a horny bastard than I am
> 
> Oh mon dieu, je me sens comme une merde - (French) Oh my god, I feel like shit
> 
> Vous avez l'air comme de la merde trop - (French) You look like shit too
> 
> Je suis tellement désolé, je n'ai pas réussi, j'ai tout raté, je suis désolé. Attendez - (French) I am so sorry, I’ve failed, I’ve failed at everything. Wait
> 
> Vous êtes ... Arthur ... ma chère, vous êtes ici ...? - (French) You are... Arthur... my dear, you are here?


	17. Plans May Fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is obnoxiously long...

**Chapter 17: Plans May Fail**

Peter groaned and yanked at the chains again. The cloth around the edges had long since worn away, but still Peter yanks on the too tight cuffs. His arms were sore, his throat was dry, and his bum had lost feeling in it long ago. Peter yanked again, getting a groan from Marcello.

"Just stop already!" Marcello snapped. "You’re not going to get out like that! You'll rip your arms off first!"

Peter glanced at his Italian friend. His face still bore the cuts and bruises from the punishment he had received, and his hand was poorly wrapped. Gutpa had tried to re-bandage it properly, but Marcello attacked him and was forced to make do with the wrap he already had.

"Marcello, don't give up," Peter tried gently, but the defeat was evident in the other's eyes. Peter frowned sadly and glanced at Emily. "Em, say something?" Peter begged. "You usually get him out of this."

Emily perked up at being addressed. “Oh! Er... right. Marcello, it’s not too late yet! As long as we’re still here we still have every chance at escape!”

“Escape is an art,” came the faint voice of Florian.

Emily sighed. “Yes... yes Florian, escape is an art,” she shook her head and went on, “Anyway, if we  give up, then the bad guys win! And I for one do NOT let the bad guys win!”

Liam scoffed, shifting around to try and get some feeling back into his legs at least. “I’m tired. It’s hard to sleep like this.”

Emily growled and glared at Liam. “Well obviously! It’s part of their plans, if we can’t sleep properly we’ll be too tired to properly think and fight back!”

“Even so,” Liam pouted, “And I’m bored too.”

“Don’t be bored, think!” Emily demanded, “Surely there’s some other plan we haven’t thought of.”

“Why do we even need a plan?” Liam sighed, “Aren’t we getting our ransoms paid in like... a day or so anyway?”

Emily frowned. “We still don’t know if we’re really going to be freed or not. I don’t trust our kidnapper’s word in the slightest.” Marcello nodded at Emily's words, smiling slightly.

"You’re right," he sighed. "We have to get home, and not wait for our family to get us back."

"Hey, I realize I never really did ask where you lot came from," Peter blinked in surprise. "Or were you all caught here in Spain as well?"

“Yes, we were all kidnapped here,” Emily nodded, “I was sailing with my Pop, well, we’re moving to England actually, from Australia. We were on the voyage almost a year and we only had a little more than a month to go, dad said, and then this happens. They got me while I was waiting for my dad outside of a general store. I wanted to stay out and pet a dog I saw...” The girl shook her head, “Not that we won’t get out of this! But we’ll likely have to find passage on another ship now... and I’m not sure we’ll be able to get as nice a ship with my ransom.”

Florian’s voice suddenly rose. “Austria. I’m from... Austria... came here with my mom and dad... they said I could find much art in Spain... I was looking at a church, and... looked up and my parents were gone... the man said he would bring me to them... he brought me here...”

Liam sighed heavily and fidgeted again. “I’m from Sweden... I guess... well kind of. I was born there, but I don’t like it! My dad was from there and he... anyway, I’m with my mom now, so we travel all over the place, usually up north but mom wanted a vacation somewhere warmer and I got separated from her while we were shopping.”

“What about you, Peter? Oh, I guess Marcello should say his story first,” Emily looked at the Italian.

"I was actually already traveling alone," Marcello admitted. "I ran away from my Nonno. My older Fratelli were stolen by pirates, so I stole my part of my inheritance from Nonno and took off to find them. Not the best idea really. That jerk in the mask approached me pretending to be a guard with information on my Fratelli. Now my Nonno has to travel here to Spain and pay off my debt. I was born in Italy." Peter hummed and turned to mostly face Emily.

"Well I was born and raised in England," Peter began. "Although I was partly raised on the English channel as well. My older brother is, was, a British Navel captain and he always took me out to sea with him whenever I asked. Well, one day we were out at sea on a patrol and three pirate ships attacked us. Arthur, my brother, Alfred, my brother's son figure, and I were all taken hostage. One pirate captain took fancy to my brother and they became lovers, so we were able to live quite comfortably. Anyway, after a long tiring series of events, we ended up in Spain. My brother and his lover were dancing, and I was sitting to the side eating a churro. Needless to say, another was shoved into my face and I couldn't resist. So, thanks to my stomach, I ended up here."

Liam snorted, “You expect us to believe all that? Pirate ships and romance? Whatever... I believe the churro thing though.”

“Oh will you shut up?” Emily snapped and then smiled a little at Peter, though her eyes showed she too had some doubts. “You have to admit... it _is_ a little unbelievable. I mean... THREE pirate ships? Being a hostage and then taken hostage again now... I’m not saying you’re lying or anything but um... perhaps you exaggerated a little?”

Peter looked hurt. He frowned and looked away, staring down at his lap. "There are times even I don't want to believe it. It's been a lot for me and my brother.  Peter said. "I'm not lying. B-But if you don't believe me that's fine. I don't care."

"I believe you," Marcello said gently, smiling. "I have a couple doubts, but hey, life is unpredictable and anything can happen!" Peter smiled sadly a Marcello, a look of gratitude on his face.

Emily coughed and flushed a little. “Well regardless, I’m sure we’re all looking forward to getting back to our respective loved ones, so let’s continue to concoct a plan, shall we?”

The girl’s words, however, were cut off abruptly at the sound of the door to the cellar opening and heavy footfalls on the stairs. All five sets of eyes riveted themselves on the masked man who entered with a noticeable grin on his face.

“Hey thar kids!” he chuckled, scratching at the stubble on his chin, “Jus’ thought you’d like teh know, it’s about ten in the morning and your ransoms run out at midnight tonight. So we’re going to be movin’ you all to the drop off point just outside the city later today! Ain’t that jus’ great?”

The children continued to stare at him, though with a little more hope in their eyes.

“That’s right,” the masked man nodded, “So we’ll be givin’ you all lunch in a minute, and right after dinner tonight we’ll be binding you each up and bringing you upstairs. You’ll be set up in a cart with blankets and stuff covering you. Might be a bit hard teh breathe, but it’ll only be until we’re pas’ the gates. Then we’ll move ya to the pick-up spot and yer parents’ll come for ya. So there’s no point bother’n with an escape plan now, you’ll be home soon enough now as long as you co-operate.” His face turned to look hard at Marcello, and then at Emily, who both bit their lips. The masked man nodded again. “Any questions?” Peter stared up at the masked man, a hard look in his eyes.

"Are you even really going to let us go home?" Peter snorted.

"Yes," Gutpa said softly, having entered after the masked man had. His eyes were calm and neutral, yet Peter found himself trusting him.

The masked man smirked. “Yep, it’s just how Gutpa says. He’ll be back with food in a minute, just wanted teh make sure you didn’t get any stupid ideas. Come on, now,” the masked man gestured for Gutpa to follow as he headed back to the staircase. Emily looked at Peter as the two men vanished and the door was heard to open and shut.

“What do you think? Were they lying?” Emily nibbled at her lip.

"I don't think Gutpa is," Peter said, his tone light and unsure. "I don't know about that masked bloke though."

Emily frowned. “Well... if Gutpa isn’t, then how could the other guy be? They’re working together aren’t they?”

"Because they work together doesn't mean they're both assholes," Marcello commented. "Gutpa's actually been rather...kind to us."

Liam shrugged. “Yeah, but Em’s got a point too. I mean, even if Gutpa’s not as much of an asshole they’re still in on this plan together, right? So if Gutpa isn’t lying then their plan is just to get the ransom and let us go. No problems.”

"Maybe," Peter sighed. "But...But we've seen Gutpa's face. That other bastard goes through great lengths to cover his face, but...Gutpa doesn't."

Emily frowned. “Maybe... maybe it’s because Gutpa’s face isn’t that uncommon? He seems the type that could slip into a crowd easily. Maybe the other guy is really scarred up or something so he’d be easily recognisable without the mask, so he can’t let any of us see him and point him out later.”

"I think we shouldn't let our guard down," Peter sighed. "Even if they're not lying, even if they really do intend to give us back, we should still be careful."

"And what about those of us whose parents can't pay?" Marcello asked. "What of those children?" Peter was silent.

In a coincidental turn of events, upstairs in the small house the two men were squatting in during this particular ruse Gutpa had asked his masked companion the very same question as Marcello had.

The masked man, Sadiq by name, snorted. “Well, I was thinking we could cut off some unimportant part of the kid’s body, like a finger or something, and send it to them before we sell the kid as a slave. Need to make some kind of money of them after all, even if it won’t be as much as the others. Or maybe not,” Sadiq scratched his chin, “How much would the price drop on a child-slave if we cut off a finger? Well maybe if we sell the lot at once they won’t check all their hands until we’re gone.”

Gupta looked up from the simple soup he was making. His eyes were wide with evident surprise. His brows furrowed, the surprise giving way to confusion as he stared at his long time friend.

"What do you mean?" Gutpa asked softly, his voice tight with worry and laced with the confusion in his eyes. "What boy? Aren't they paying?"

“Oh, I mean hypothetically, if we don’t get enough money for one of the kids,” Sadiq shrugged, “Well I guess it doesn’t really matter. We’ll end up selling them all anyway once they’re smuggled out of the city.”

"What are you talking about?!" Gupta demanded, his voice rising a bit. "You told me we were giving the children back!"

Sadiq snorted. “What, are you seriously upset about this? This way we’re getting paid twice for every kid! Hey, I’m doing this for the both of us. If we sell them, we won’t need to bother pulling another scheme like this in the next port, we’d have enough to buy a good ship of our own and go out to plunder some REAL treasure!” The man’s voice hardened, “Don’t tell me you’d go against me now, after all we’ve been through to get this far. I didn’t tell you all the details because I don’t believe in putting all my eggs in one basket, you know? No need to get whiny ‘bout it.” Sadiq noted Gutpa’s reddening face and sighed, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Look, I’m doing this for _us_ okay? Not just me. We’re in this together, you know that. Start to end.”

"You promised the children would be safe," Gutpa whispered, voice lower than normal and his eyes downcast. They both knew that Gutpa had a soft spot for children.

“They will be safe!” Sadiq huffed, “I’m not selling them to brothels or mines. I made sure to sell them black market to a dealer who only sells to private households. They have every chance of ending up with a normal serving station. They’ll have room and board, they’ll be fine. Don’t worry about them. Everything will be fine, you worry too much,” Sadiq chuckled softly and leaned down, pressing his lips against Gutpa’s for a brief moment before drawing away. “Now I’ve got to go finalize some details about smuggling the kids out of the city, so make sure the kids are fed while I’m working on that. ‘Kay?”

"Okay," Gutpa agreed, turning back to the soup. Once Sadiq left, Gutpa slammed his fist into the wall. He sighed and went on with his work, favoring his bruised knuckles. Balancing the bowls onto one tray, Gutpa proceeded down to the cell where the children were being held. Opening the door, Gupta made his descent, ignoring how the children had immediately quieted from whatever conversation they had been speaking about.

"Dinner," he announced quietly, his face and tone both emotionless.

\-- --

Francis was, thankfully, doing better by midnight the day after his brush with near-death and so both he and Arthur were able to make the journey to the back alley where they were meant to drop off the money. Then they would finally be told where Peter was and could go and retrieve him. Even though the reunion was so close now, Arthur was shaking badly; terrified that something would go wrong.

“Hush, _lapin_ , everything will be fine,” Francis said quietly, an arm around the Briton’s shoulders as they navigated the dark streets. “You have the money, _oui_?”

"Y-Yes," Arthur said nervously. The bag with all the money was firmly gripped with two shaky hands. He shifted from foot to foot, unable to stand the anticipation. He was going to get Peter, he was going to get Peter! Yet a small part in him doubted it. They continued their way to the bell tower, Arthur still jittery the entire way. As they got nearer to it, a man dressed all in loose white robes sat against the wall.

A white fabric headdress that fell to his shoulders covered his head, and a white fabric was strung across his face, showing only his eyes. Had it been any other occasion, Arthur wouldn't have paid attention to such a lean man, or considered him much of a threat, but this man held Peter's life in his hands, and he was suddenly the most dangerous man ever. The man's amber eyes looked up at them as they got closer, and he stood up.

Francis immediately straightened to full height, his eyes narrowed at the man. “I suppose you are the kidnapper?” he asked, his French accent a little thicker than usual, Arthur noted. As the note had been in English, it was natural to assume the kidnapper could speak that language at least. “We have the money agreed upon. Where is Peter?”

The man looked up at Francis, his eyes emotionless. "You're Arthur Kirkland?" he asked; his voice low and slightly muffled by the fabric. Arthur noted that the man had an odd accent, one he had never heard before.

"I'm Arthur," Arthur said sharply, stepping forward. The man stood up, taking a step closer to Arthur. They stared at each other for a couple seconds, neither saying a word. The man turned his head, and Arthur could have sworn he saw a flash of remorse in the man's eyes.

Francis cleared his throat, a little nervously, “Well, er, tell us Peter’s location and you may have the money. We understand that if we do not hand over the money then Peter will not be at the location, so I assure you that you will have your price as soon as you tell us where Peter can be found.”

The man glanced up at Francis, and then turned back to Arthur. "I don't want the damn money," he hissed lowly. He reached out and yanked Arthur close, surprising the Englishman. The man ripped off his mask and whispered in Arthur's ear. "He's smuggling the children out of the city as we  
speak," he said, "Go now! To the edge of town, south of here. Go before you never see him again!" He shoved the fuming Arthur away. "I'm sorry," he continued. "I never wanted this to happen, but I have no say. Just go!"

Arthur nodded, and gestured to the money. "I assume you'll be needing this?" Arthur said. An uncertain look flashed across the man's eyes, although his face was blank. Arthur pressed the pouch into his hands. "Thank you," Arthur said gratefully. "I came here planning to kill you, but you're just a man trying to make a living at another's whim, aren't you?"

The man shivered, his blank face starting to crack with emotion. Arthur smiled at him, and then turned to Francis, his face serious. "Let's go save Peter!"

"That way," the man said, pointing south. Arthur nodded, and without another word, ran off.

\-- --

While Gutpa had been collecting the last of the ransom money, Sadiq had been carefully binding and gagging each of the hostages and loading them into his cart covered by blankets and random articles of clothing to such an extent that the children nearly felt themselves suffocating. However, it wasn’t so much that they actually DID suffocate, so Peter still managed to scrape and struggle enough that his gag slipped out just as they passed the gate out of town. He managed to squirm to the edge of the wagon in time to hear the masked man speaking to himself.

“Heh, I hope Gutpa got all the ransom money alright. I should be able to turn a good profit selling the kids as well... that slave dealer better be on time...” the masked man muttered to himself.

Peter's eyes widened. Sell them...?! He crawled through the junk in the cart, struggling to get to the others. "Emily!" he whispered urgently. "Marcello!"

“Mm?” Emily kicked forward to brush against Peter to let him know she was there.

“OW!” Liam snapped, seeming to have freed himself of his gag as well, “Peter! You’re on my leg, OW OW OW!”

“HEY!” a loud voice was heard through the blankets and the kids stiffened. “Damn, did your gags slip? Well keep quiet in there! Yer parents’ll be along soon enough if you jus’ pipe down!”

Liam snorted and continued in a whisper, “You’re still on me. Come on, we’ll be safe in a few minutes...”

"That's the thing!" Peter hissed back, squirming off Liam. "He's not taking us to our parents! He's going to sell us into slavery! I heard him talking to himself about it."

"What kinda crazy talks to himself?" Marcello snicker softly.

"Not the point, chap," Peter whispered. "We gotta get out of here, or we'll never see our families again."

That seemed to get everyone’s attention. They were silent for a moment. “But... how?” Liam finally asked in a small voice. Emily, who had yet to get her gag off, merely let out a pitiful sounding groan.

Then, suddenly, Peter felt small hands at his back. Soon they were freed and he twisted, wide eyed to see Florian staring at him, with a very small smile. The British boy gaped in disbelief as Florian’s smile widened.

“Escape is an art. I like to practice all art.”

There was some intense sputtering from Liam. “W-what? Well if you practice escape then why not do it before?!”

Florian hummed, “Art needs to be made in a moment of inspiration. Escape is an art.”

Liam groaned and flatted his face into the ground. “Yes. Yes it is an art. Someone untie me then!”

"Hey Florian, can you untie me next?" Marcello asked excitedly. "I now appreciate art so much more!"

Now freed, Peter pulled the gag out of Emily's mouth and began untying her. "We'll have to make a run for it," Peter said softly.

Emily bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah it... it’s probably our one shot,” she whispered as Florian work on untying Marcello before moving on to Liam. “Um... I... I want you to know that I... I really appreciate your help and-“

“Hurry up!” Liam snapped suddenly and the two looked over to see the Nordic boy had pushed up a bit of the blankets as Florian and Marcello had already reached the back of the cart. “If we’re going to go, we need to do it now!”

Just as he spoke, however, the cart came to a halt. The children froze and stared at each other.

“P-Peter... what now?” Emily asked quietly, her hand twisting around Peter’s wrist and holding on. He could feel that her palm was slick with sweat.

"Run, run!" Peter grabbed hold of Emily and struggled forward. Marcello grabbed Florian with his good hand and shoved Liam with his foot as he pushed out. They all toppled to the floor. Dazed and confused, Peter wobbled up, still gripping Emily, and shot forward. Marcello stood up, gasping in pain, and yanked Liam along. Florian was already dashing along with the others.

“What the Hell?!” Sadiq screamed and in a moment had quickly caught up to Marcello and Liam, grabbing their upper arms and dragging them back. “DAMN IT!” he shouted. When he looked up he had lost sight of the Austrian boy, but he could see that the girl was struggling to keep up with the British boy and that was slowing them both down. He tossed Liam and Marcello back on the cart and quickly bound them both up with twisted blankets before taking off full speed to reach Emily and Peter.

Emily was staring over her shoulder as they ran, frequently tripping over branches. “Peter... Peter he got Marcello and Liam! A-and he’s coming! H-he’s got longer legs than us, he’s catching up, PETER!” she wailed, her gripped on Peter’s hand tightening considerably as he tripped again, falling forward and dragging the British boy with her. Peter rolled onto her, sparing Emily from Sadiq's hand. As he pulled Peter up and reached for Emily, Peter bit Sadiq.

"Emily, run!" Peter screamed, shoving Sadiq when he recoiled in pain. "Run Emily! Run!" He turned back to Sadiq and was backhanded.

Although the effort of a second escape left him gasping in pain, Marcello thrashed about in the cart."Where's Florian?!" the Italian panicked through his pain and struggles.

Emily hesitated, unsure if she should follow Peter’s advice or try to help him. In that same moment however, a tall man with long blonde hair rushed out from behind her and she shrieked as that man collided with their kidnapper, punching him hard in the face and forcing him to drop Peter onto the ground. Within a moment swords were drawn and the two men were a flurry of slashing blades.

“Arthur! Get the children and run!” Francis snapped as Arthur hurried toward the fray as well, Florian holding his hand.

“See! Peter is here!” Florian nodded smiling as she tugged Arthur closer, “Rescue is an art!”

Arthur hurried past the two toward the cart. He slid a knife out of his pocket and freed Liam and Marcello.

"Let's go, boys," Arthur instructed, yanking Liam out of the cart. Marcello raced along with the others as they skirted around Francis and Sadiq. Peter raced to Arthur, who released the other children to scoop him up in his arms. He ran, the children following.

"Emily!" Peter wailed.

Noting the girl was still paralyzed in shock on the ground, Arthur scooped her up in his arms as well. Marcello and Liam ran alongside Arthur as the Englishman ran back in the direction of the city gate, and past it, still running as they passed the guards who let them in straight away and further into town toward the inn. Florian ran in front of them, making sure to hang back enough so that he was still slightly following Arthur.

At last the group burst into the inn and all nearly fell to the ground, trembling hard. Suddenly there was a great whoop heard from Liam, followed by Emily cheering with tears running down her face. Florian himself started to giggle. It was only about ten minutes before Francis entered the room as well where Arthur had already explained the situation to the startled inn keeper that had come to see what the noise was about so early in the morning. The children were already being led into a sitting room to have hot drinks brought to them. Francis quickly hurried to Arthur, kissing him on the lips softly and giving a small, sad smile.

“I was, unfortunately, unable to kill the man. Apparently his slave dealer friend was arriving and fearing that he would be in trouble for not providing the promised slaves he bolted away. I did not wish to meet the slave trader myself so I followed you. It seems we were just in time, _non?_ ” Francis glanced into the sitting room where the inn keeper was handing around the hot drinks and suddenly the Frenchman let out a small squeal. “Oh HO! Hon hon hon, it looks as though little Peter has found the beginnings of young love!”

And so it would seem as Emily whispered something into Peter’s ear making the boy blush and then she swiftly kissed Peter’s cheek before both fell into even larger blushes and refused to look at each other anymore, though they remained seated next to each other on the sofa while the other three children took up scattered chairs.

Arthur smiled fondly, aching to hold Peter close, but realized that that would further embarrass the boy. Arthur smiled and turned to Francis.

"Oh Frog," Arthur laughed. He yanked Francis close, kissing him swiftly.

"So what happens now?" Marcello asked quietly. "No doubt our parents are out looking for us, _si_?" Peter nodded, his heart still pounding and face still red from Emily's show of affection.

At that moment as it happened, Matthew ran into the room breathing hard and looking very flustered. “I-I was out with Gilbert and I heard voices and- OH!” he gasped to see the room filled with children and looked absolutely thrilled to see Peter sitting among them “Th-thank God!” he gasped out and slumped against the doorframe.

“Ah, perfect,” Francis nodded and went to Matthew whose attention quickly snapped to his captain and father figure. “Mathieu, I need you to get out on the street and find a guard, any guard, and tell them that the kidnapped children are at this inn. That should help spread the word and hopefully the parents will be able to find their way here.

“Er, right,” Matthew nodded.

“I’ll go with him! Kesese!” Gilbert wandered into the room at a slower pace, slipping an arm casually around Matthew’s waist, to Francis’ annoyance, but the Frenchman sighed and nodded seeing as it was better to travel in pairs anyway. As they passed Arthur, Matthew paused and then gave the British man a small smile before disappearing out the door.

Emily sighed and drew her knees up to her chest. “I’m glad... I’m glad we’re safe.”

Florian smiled and lay back in his chair. “Sleep... is an art...”

Liam was already snoring.

Francis chuckled. “I suppose it has been a rather exhausting day, _non_?”

Arthur's maternal instincts kicked in, and he gently picked up Liam and Florian.

"Come along children," Arthur said in a motherly/fatherly tone. "Off to bed we go." Peter nodded sleepily taking Emily's hand and walking her alongside Arthur. Marcello tiredly gripped Arthur's shirt, letting the man lead him up to his room.

“ _Oui_ we... oh. Oh this means...” Francis groaned softly as within a moment of entering all five children had gotten themselves onto the large bed and had quickly ended up snoring gently, distinctly leaving no place for Arthur nor Francis to sleep. The Frenchman sighed and placed an arm around Arthur. “I suppose it is for the best anyway. Perhaps you can help me bandage my arm?” He held out his opposite arm and tittered at Arthur’s horrified expression. “It is only a small wound, though it has been bleeding a little. I forgot to mention it in the excitement.” Indeed the sleeve of his shirt was ripped and beneath was a decent size cut on the back of Francis’ forearm with red blood still glistening around it.

"Oh, you idiot," Arthur sighed, gently taking Francis's arm. He led him to the bathroom, filled a bowl with water, and proceeded to clean the wound before dressing it. Once the cut was firmly wrapped, Arthur placed a small kiss on it, then leaned up and kissed Francis once again. "Thank you, love," Arthur whispered lovingly. "Thank you."

Francis hummed in appreciation. “I could not leave Peter in such filthy hands. You must know...” the Frenchman pulled Arthur close to him, “I would go to any lengths for your life and happiness.”

Arthur smiled, pressing his face into the crook of Francis's neck. "I love you," Arthur whispered softly. " _Je t'aime_."

“ _Je t’aime aussi_ ,” Francis whispered back. Then he sighed. “This does not change the fact I am exhausted and we are now without a bed to sleep in.”

"Floors look lovely, don't they?" Arthur said sarcastically. He glanced at the sleeping children and smiled wishfully. "Come," Arthur sighed. "It's the floor or the chair. Take your pick."

Francis gave a look of distaste before sighing. “You had best take the chair. I do not sleep well scrunched up and you would be more likely to be comfortable in such a small space _mon petit lapin_ ,” Francis said, putting extra emphasis on the ‘ _petit_ ’.

"I take that into rather offense," Arthur huffed playfully, a broad grin stretching across his face. His spirits were high once again, and he pulled Francis into another happy kiss. In the end, Arthur he did curl onto the chair to sleep, and Francis lay on the floor beside him.

It did seem, however, that due to the fact that night was waning anyway and the fact that parents who are worried for their children’s safety tend to run to those children as soon as their whereabouts are discovered, it was only a little over an hour before the room full of children and two sleepy adults were abruptly awaking into dawning light and the loud noise of the door being flung open. Several adults rushed into the room all at once, nearly trampling Francis as Florian, Liam and Emily were immediately swept up into hugs and kisses. Sleepy, laughing reassurances from the children were all that kept this crowd from breaking down into wails of happiness right there. Florian was surrounded by his mother and father on either side, Emily was in her father’s firm grasp and Liam’s mother was kissing his face so much that he began pushing her away in embarrassment.

“Oi! Daddy!” Emily giggled and then quickly explained of the rescue by Arthur and Francis.

Emily’s father grinned brightly and hurried to Arthur first and then Francis, firmly shaking their hands. “The name’s Jack, and I’m right glad you saved my Sheila, mates!” He was followed by enthusiastic thanks from the other parents as well.

"Arthur Kirkland," Arthur replied, nodding an air of maturity and warmth. "It was anything anyone would have done, I know I was frightened for my brother, I can only imagine what the panic was for a child to be of your own flesh and blood."

Peter smiled sadly at Emily who smiled the same in return, before the British boy turned to the blank-faced Marcello. "Your Grandpapa's on his way," Peter encouraged. "Don't worry chap!"

"I guess," Marcello said softly.

Florian began to squirm in his parents’ arms until he was put on the ground. He ran to Marcello and suddenly hugged him tightly. He whispered, “Bravery is an art,” and then immediately let go. Then he quickly sent what seemed to be special smiles at Liam, Emily and Peter though none of those three could tell what such a smile meant other than, perhaps, ‘thank you’, and hurried back to his parents.

Liam struggled for a moment, then sighed, “Um, thanks Florian you... you really saved us back there.” Florian beamed. Liam sighed. “And um... Emily you...” he flushed, “You were really brave too and... and Peter...” he trailed off for a moment before clearing his throat, “You’re alright I guess... and... I hope Marcello’s grandpa comes soon.” He looked up at his mother who looked absolutely thrilled that he was properly saying goodbye. Marcello smiled and went to clasp a hand on Liam's shoulder.

"Even if you were pessimistic at times, you were a grand person to meet," Marcello laughed cheerfully. "But, _addio_!"

"Goodbye Liam," Peter waved sadly. "I'm glad to have met you."

"And Florian," Marcello smiled, turning to said boy. "Never give up art! You're amazing, and we owe you our lives for finding Pete's _Fratello_ , and untying our bonds!" Peter went and gave Florian a hug.

"I'm glad you found that escaping inspiration when you did," Peter laughed. "Thank you, and goodbye, friend."

Marcello nodded at Emily, grinning. "Well, you were much more brave and willing to fight than any of us," Marcello complimented. " _Grazie_ for keeping our spirits up."

Peter blushed, but smiled fondly at Emily. "Thank you for everything Em," Peter said softly. The boy bowed, and then took her hand and kissed it. Marcello snickered, making Peter even more red.

Emily however, though she blushed, also smiled brightly and threw her arms around Peter’s neck to hug him. “I hope we meet again someday. I don’t think we would’ve made it if you weren’t here so... thank you.” She squeezed him tightly and then drew away. Jack smiled and scooped her up into his arms again.

“Alright then, we’ve got a ship to find passage on. I really can’t thank you enough.” Jack sighed, “I wish we’d saved them before they took the ransom money though. Oh well, it’s worth it. We’ll just have to downgrade, right Sheila?”

Emily nodded and clung to her father as she was carried from the room, waving over his shoulder. Liam went next, hand clasping his mother’s and Florian left with his parents, walking between them with one hand in each of his.

Marcello was left still sitting solemnly on the bed.

Francis looked at him awkwardly. “I, er, I’m sure your _grandpere_ will come soon, _non_?”

"Y-Yeah," Marcello said quietly. Peter sat next to him, a sad frown on his face.

"Marcello? Were you telling us the whole truth about your Grandpapa?" Peter asked. Marcello bowed his head shamefully.

" _Nonno_ 's sick," Marcello whispered, loud enough for only Peter to hear. The boy wrapped an arm around Marcello's shoulders. They stayed like that for awhile until their stomachs growled. Marcello laughed and Peter smiled.

“Ah, breakfast then?” Francis suggested to a chorus of nods. He and Arthur took the two boys and headed down to the tavern to find something to eat. It was there that they were met with something unexpected.

Antonio was already downstairs eating with Lovino, Feliciano and Ludwig sitting nearby. When the four men looked up to see Arthur and Francis enter with the two boys all of them looked pleased, which is understandable seeing as they all wanted to see Peter back safely. But after the briefest moment both Italians’ jaws dropped simultaneously and Feliciano squealed in delight and ran toward them. Lovino hesitantly rose from his seat and started sputtering. He was still doing that as Feliciano wrapped his arms around Marcello and swung him into the air speaking rapidly in Italian

Lovino finally got it in him to speak, though he seemed stuck speaking in English for the moment. “MARCELLO! What the HELL are you... why are you... WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

"Looking for you two!" Marcello answered, his wide smile giving way to tears as he buried his face in Feliciano's shirt, still in his older brother's grasp. He turned to look at Lovino, and then held his arms out in a 'carry me' fashion.

Lovino sighed irritably, but if one looked hard at him they’d notice he was valiantly trying to hold back a smile as he went to Marcello and took him from Feliciano, hugging him tightly as well. “Idiot, you didn’t have to come out looking for us we’re... we’re fine damn it...”

Antonio was now hurrying to the group as well, looking delighted. “Oh! I see you have another brother, Lovino? Why did you never tell me? He’s so cute, just like you!” Antonio reached out to pinch Marcello’s cheek but Lovino slapped his hand away.

“As if I’d tell a pedophile like you that I have another younger _fratello_!” Lovino snapped, looking away so as not to see Antonio’s hurt expression.

"Eh?" Marcello blinked, turning to look at Antonio. He turned back to Lovino, then back to Antonio. He laughed, and hugged his eldest brother again. "I'm glad I found you two," Marcello said happily. " _Nonno_ 's going to be happy too when he gets here!"

“ _Nonno_ is coming?” Feliciano asked, looking absolutely delighted. “Yay! Then he can meet Ludwig!” Feliciano smiled at the German who was still watching from the table. He had been wearing a peaceful expression until attention was drawn to him, at which point he flushed and stared at the table, fidgeting awkwardly.

Antonio froze however at these words. “Oh... er... he’s... here?”

Lovino’s eyes widened as well at the implications. He bit at his lip. “So... I suppose I have a way out now, bastard.”

The Spaniard shivered, looking away. “B-but... after everything, you would still try to leave me, Lovi?”

Lovino shook slightly. “O-of course bastard! That’s... that’s all I ever try to do!”

“Is... is this about the dress?”

“NOT IN FRONT OF MARCELLO!”

“Because you looked so cute in all the frills!”

“I SAID NOT IN FRONT OF MARCELLO!”

“Ve~ Lovi, you did look cute!”

“SH-SHUT UP _FRATELLO_!”

"I wanna see _Fratello_ in a dress!" Marcello said excitedly. "Please?"

“NO! What the hell is with all of you people wanting to see me cross dress? You don’t make Arthur cross dress!” Lovino huffed and Francis chuckled.

“Well, Arthur doesn’t have quite the feminine bone structure you do. And his eyebrows, though they do grant him character, would look extremely strange on a woman,” Francis hummed then and stroked his chin, looking at Arthur contemplatively, “Then again... it might not hurt to try...”

"Hell no!" Arthur huffed, "I'd bite you all before you get me in a dress!" Peter and Marcello giggled, imagining the fight Arthur would put up. Again, Marcello's stomach decided to make itself known to the world.

"So, pasta?" Marcello asked hopefully, smiling sheepishly.

Feliciano clapped, _“Si_! I want pasta too!”

Francis shook his head, “It is too early for pasta, they don’t serve it for breakfast in Spain.”

“Ve~?” Feliciano looked positively heartbroken, but Lovino simply scoffed.

“Well they’d better make some pasta back there before we take over their fucking kitchen!”

" _Si_!" Marcello agreed, grinning mischievously. He jumped down from Lovino's arms and held Feli's hand. "Let's go get pasta, _Fratello_!"

As the three Italians hurried off to the kitchen, Antonio slowly went to sink back into his chest. Then he put him head face down on the table and let out a long whine. Francis sighed and slid up next to his friend, rubbing gentle circles on his back with his hand.

“ _Mon ami_ , I am sure Lovino will not really leave you.”

The Spaniard shuddered. “Why not, _amigo_? Even if I have always believed his constant head-butted and rude words to be signs of affection, if he finds his _nonno_ he might go back anyway.”

Francis shook his head. “Feliciano will stay regardless because of Ludwig. If Feliciano is here, Lovino will not leave.”

Antonio sniffed and raised his head slightly, looking a little surprised. “I-I hadn’t thought of that.”

"Marcello told me his Grandpapa was sick," Peter said quietly, although his voice was loud enough for the others to hear.

Antonio’s head lifted higher and his eyes widened. “Sick? How sick?”

"I don't know," Peter said sadly. "But it seems like he's sick enough to cause Marcello to worry his Grandpapa might not come or make it."

Antonio, Francis and even Ludwig all seemed to fall into contemplative thought at this information.

“If Feliciano finds out,” Ludwig said slowly, “He will want to go to his grandfather at least until he is better or dies.”

Antonio shivered, “If Lovino finds out he might feel the same... and if Feliciano goes back to his _nonno_ then Lovi will probably leave with him then, too.”

Francis sighed. “Well then the question becomes, if they decide to leave, will you let them?”

Ludwig grunted, but did give the beginnings of a small smile. “If Feliciano wishes to care for his sick grandfather then I will not disallow such a thing. I know he will come back when he feels his duty to his grandfather is finished.”

Antonio sighed. “Well... I would hope that Lovino would follow Feliciano back then but... but...” the Spaniard’s eyes filled with tears. “No! I can’t let my little Lovi leave me!”

“Try saying that five times fast,” Ludwig snorted under his breath.

Antonio shook his head frantically, “I-I need him with me to make sure he’s safe! I can’t imagine leaving him out somewhere where danger could reach him!”

"You realize that if their Grandfather passes, they're going to have the responsibility of Marcello upon their shoulders," Arthur pointed out, his tone serious and firm. Peter gripped Arthur's hand, now worried for his new friend.

“You mean on Lovino’s shoulders,” Ludwig shook his head, “Feliciano is very caring, but he really shouldn’t be responsible for anyone or anything.”

“Very true,” Francis nodded, and then suddenly beamed, “Oh! But of course little Marcello can live on Antonio’s ship should his _grandpere_ pass, _non_?”

Antonio perked up at this. “Oh, of course! He’s so cute, if they need to care for Marcello then he would be welcome to live on our ship. Then we would be just like you and Arthur and Peter!”

Francis flushed, just a little, and cleared his throat, “Ah... I suppose it would be similar... oh, but then Peter would have someone his own age around too,” Francis smiled at Peter, “That would be nice, _non_?”

“Don’t get so excited,” Ludwig said with a sigh, “This would only happen if their grandfather dies AND if Lovino agreed to it. Lovino might decide not to allow Marcello on your ship at all.”

"I highly doubt Lovino will send his own brother to an orphanage," Arthur commented hotly. "Even if he was to send Marcello away to another relative, I would assume he would want to stay near to Marcello for a few years so not to risk the boy running off again."

Peter, deciding this was adult talk that he had better stay out of, slipped away to the kitchen. Besides, he was hungry. The smell of pasta sent his mouth watering and his stomach grumbling.

" _Ciao_ Peter~!" Marcello chirped happily, noticing his friend from where he was stirring the pasta.

“ _Pedro_!” Feliciano laughed and pulled out a spoon from the sauce, “Ve~ try the sauce and tell me if it needs more garlic?” he held the spoon out to Peter.

Lovino snorted, “As if a Brit would know if food tastes good.”

“Lovi, that’s mean!” Feliciano whined.

Peter felt slightly wounded. Sure he had eaten his brother's cooking, which was terrible even by British standards, but that didn't mean his taste buds were dead! After all, he found joy in French food. Nevertheless, Peter leaned forward and licked the sauce off the spoon. The warmth of it made Peter salivate and the array of flavors was pure bliss. It must've shown on his face, because all three Italians were snickering.

"It's incredible," Peter said enthusiastically. "Perfect!"

Marcello reached for the spoon and took a lick. "A touch more salt _Fratello_ ," Marcello replied. "Unless we're making it the way Lovino likes with extra tomatoes?"

“Extra tomatoes!” Lovino snapped, “You can never have too many tomatoes!” He flushed as Feliciano giggled.  Marcello shook his head, smiling widely.

"Well I still think it's amazing!" Peter chirped.

"And that's just the sauce," Marcello smirked. "Wait until you actually try a plate of our pasta~!"

Feliciano hummed happily, “Are the noodles cooked enough yet, Marcello? I’m so hungry ve~!”

"Just a bit more _Fratello_ ," Marcello hummed. "You’re hungry? Imagine how Peter and I feel!"

"Hey, by the way, how's your hand?" Peter mused.

"Still hurts," Marcello replied in a dismissive tone. "But it'll heal. Eventually, I think." Peter hummed.

Lovino suddenly looked startled. “Your hand... oh yeah, what the hell Marcello, you didn’t tell us how you got here in the first place!”

"O-Oh," Marcello faultered. "I, uh...I..."

"He was kidnapped," Peter said, nudging Marcello gently in an urging way.

" _Si_ , I...I ran away from _N-Nonno_ ," Marcello said softly, eyes down-cast with refusal to look at his older brothers. "He...He got sick. Really sick. S-So I stole money and went looking for you two. That masked bastard, the one who stole Peter and the rest of us, tricked me as soon as I got off the ship, and locked me in that dungeon we were in. We tried to slip the cuffs off by slicking it with our blood, but I broke my thumb. That's what I think anyway."

Lovino’s eyes widened before glaring fiercely. “What?! You ran away when he was sick? It didn’t even fucking occur to you to stay and take care of him? What the fuck did you do, leave him on his fucking d-death bed and took off- damn it Feliciano!”

Feliciano was already wailing on his knees, practically choking the life out of Marcello as he hugged him. “Waaaah! Ve~ You’ve been through so much, are you okay? Did you make sure to wave a white flag and beg them not to hurt you? Did you- wait...” Feliciano trailed off as the rest of the words hit home for him as they had hit Lovino immediately. “ _N-nonno_ is sick? Oh no! How sick? Did you give him lots of pasta?”

Lovino groaned and rubbed his temples... or it seemed that way, though he was actually wiping his eyes. “D-damn it Feli...”

“ _Nonno_ got sick because he was so sad you two were gone! _Nonno_ didn't really do anything, or eat much, or smile, and I was worried because he started developing a cough that wouldn't go away. I didn't know what to do!" Marcello snapped back angrily, wiping his eyes as the tears quickly overflowed and spilled down his face. "I-I did tell his blonde friend I was leaving!" The Italian boy glared up at his brothers, his innocence and confusion plainly written over his face. Peter bit his lip, torn between trying to comfort the Italians, or just leave and let them talk about their problems.

Lovino only huffed, but Feliciano flinched back, stung.

“ _Nonno_ is sick because of us?” the younger Italian whispered, “I-I didn’t mean for him to get sick...”

Lovino snorted and glared, trying to mask his concern, “Well it’s not like it’s our fault! We were kidnapped by pirates; it’s kind of hard to control that! And... well if that old potato bastard knows I guess he’ll take care of _Nonno_ but... damn it! If us going missing made him like that, how do you think he feels now that you’re gone too? Why the hell didn’t you think about that?” Lovino demanded.

"I-I don't know!" Marcello snapped, his voice rising slightly. "I-I just wanted to bring you back so _Nonno_ could be happy again!"

Lovino groaned and rubbed his face again. “Well... damn it. How were you going to do that? As I just said, we were kidnapped by pirates. If Antonio finds out about _Nonno_ being sick he’ll do anything to make sure I DON’T go running after him.”

Feliciano looked at Lovino. “Then... he just can’t know, right?”

Peter blinked, a sick feeling rising in his gut. The blonde ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. Marcello only hugged Feliciano and pressed his face into his older brother's chest.

As Feliciano stroked Marcello’s hair, Lovino quickly noticed the state of the pasta and sauce and took them off the burners. “Well...” he sighed, “I guess we need to make a plan then, if we’re going to go help _Nonno_.”

Feliciano looked up at Lovino. “Ve~ but we’ll come back, right? I... I don’t want to leave Ludwig forever!”

Lovino glared at Feliciano, “Well you might have to! What’s more important, our _Nonno_ or that potato bastard?” To this, Feliciano swallowed hard and looked away, shaking.

" _Mi dispiace fratelli_ ," Macello said softly.

“It... damn it, it’s not... totally your fault,” Lovino admitted grudgingly. “But yeah we need to think of something...” Lovino looked over at Peter, “Are you going to want to come with us? Or are you okay staying on Francis’ ship? I get that you’re happier over there than we are.”

“I’m happy...” Feliciano said quietly, though Lovino pointedly ignored him.

"What was my brother's actions when I wasn't here?"' Peter asked quietly, his voice sad and his tone serious again.

Lovino looked at Peter and frowned. “Well, I wasn’t around him the whole time. I remember him being really fucking depressed and getting drunk one night... and I know he and Francis were going around asking for money from Antonio and Gilbert and then sold a bunch of stuff to make up your ransom money. That’s all I know.”

"Well, that's not bad actually," Peter said in surprise. "U-Usually he starts to lose touch of reality when I'm where he thinks he can't reach me. I wonder..." Peter shook his head. "Maybe Francis does have a good effect on him," Peter hummed. He looked up at the Italians and nodded slowly. "Okay, I'll go."

Feliciano shivered, “Um... well actually, I think... Arthur did one more thing...”

Lovino had been looking a little surprised at Peter’s simple agreement, but now he looked at Feliciano. “What? What did he do?”

“Well...” Feliciano shifted uncomfortably. “Well, Ludwig’s room is next to Gilbert’s room, and I was sleeping with Ludwig, and... s-stop looking at me like that _fratello_! B-but I was with him and Matthew was sleeping with Gilbert, only I heard him crying to Gilbert because...”

“Because what?” Lovino asked, frowning sharply.

“B-because Francis and Arthur had made him sell an innocent boy to a brothel, to get the money for Peter’s ransom ve~”

Lovino’s jaw dropped open. “What? Those... what? Arthur- he... w-well I guess it’s not that surprising... but...” he looked at Peter and his eyes widened before glaring at Feliciano, “You don’t say stuff like that in front of his _fratello_ anyway!” he shouted, to Feliciano’s squeaks and apologies.

Peter was still, eyes wide. Arthur doing such things wasn't new to him, but he had never known Arthur to be so desperate as to sell another. Murder someone, yes Arthur was more than capable and willing to do that, but to sell a human being? That shocked Peter. He cleared his throat and shook his head.

"A-At least he didn't kill anyone," Peter said, trying to lighten his voice. "H-He's done that before, for my sake. A-At least that's what he's told me."

"Your _fratello_...killed...for you," Marcello said slowly, eyes wide and fearful. "A-And he told you that he killed people?" Peter nodded. "How are you not screwed in the head?!" Marcello asked, freaking out. Peter's only answer was a confused shrug and a pondering expression.

Lovino groaned softly, “Well, anyway, so Peter’s coming with us then.” Lovino looked at Peter seriously, “You’re going to leave a note for Arthur that we’ll put with Feliciano and mine’s notes, so they’ll all be found together. That way Arthur will at least know you’re with us and of your own will. I don’t want him going crazy to have found you missing so soon after getting you back. Feliciano will probably be going back to his potato bastard when _Nonno_ is better, but Marcello and I,” Lovino stressed this even as his eyes glistened and hardened, “Will be staying in Italy.”

Feliciano looked startled. “But, what about Antonio?”

“What _about_ Antonio?” Lovino replied, snorting and looking away, “ _Nonno_ is more important to me than that bastard. Anyway, if... if you want to have _Nonno_ alright and keep your potato bastard then I have to stay... anyway...” The older Italian turned back to Peter, drilling holes in him with his eyes. “So you can come with us. When _Nonno_ is better you... you’re free to stay with us, I guess, or you can go back with Feli, or you can run off by yourself as soon as we get away from the ships. It’s your choice; I’m not going to force you to do anything. But I want you to know your options, that’s all.”

Peter nodded. "Thank you. I will. I don't want Arthur to act out again."

"And why would I act out?" Peter jumped and turned around to look up at his brother, who was staring down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Um, uh, B-because...ahhhhhhhhhh, a little help?" Peter asked as Arthur frowned, curiosity reflecting in his eyes as Peter looked nervously at the Italian brothers for help.

Feliciano looked frozen in shock, but Lovino stepped in smoothly. “Your _fratello_ was saying that our food was much better than your bland English food. I told him not to tell you so you wouldn’t freak out, bastard. Though... I guess you know now... but whatever, it’s true anyway! It seems like the only spice you English people know about is salt!”

Arthur huffed, ruffling Peter's hair. "My food's not that bad," Arthur pouted. "I-It's passable."

Peter laughed. "No, it's really not, Art!" Peter giggled. Arthur crossed his arms, grumbling under his breath.

"Anyway~!" Marcello said brightly. "The pasta's done, right _fratello_?"

“Ah, _si_ ve~!” Feliciano jumped to his feet and grabbed the saucepan. “Get the pasta, Lovi! We need to share with everyone!”

“Damn it... I guess so...” Lovino sighed and grabbed the pasta and giving a sigh, “Hey Arthur, be useful and get the dishes. You Englishmen need to be some use in the kitchen after all.”

Arthur went and grabbed the plates, looking irritated. Peter ran and got the utensils and walked out to set the table. Marcello helped his brothers load the pasta onto the plates, and helped Arthur take them out. Before long, everyone was served and they were all sitting at the tables, eating pasta.

"This is good," Peter said brightly. There was a chorus of hums and nods in approval to the odd breakfast. When it was finished, Francis stood.

“I believe it would be in our best interest to leave this port tomorrow morning.”

Antonio nodded, looking solemn. “I know why. We should tell Gilbert, _amigo_.”

Francis nodded in return. “Our supplies should be gathered today. Arthur and Peter, you will stay at the inn. Don’t argue about it.”

Antonio looked at Lovino, “You should stay here too, with your brothers. I will be leaving Miguel here too.”

Lovino glared at him. “What, you don’t trust us alone?”

Antonio winced and would not meet Lovino’s eyes. “I wish I could,” he said finally. Lovino’s face reddened and he looked away as well.

"Alright," Arthur replied, amused by Francis' order. "I wasn't going to go anywhere any way. I just want to be out at sea again."

Peter glanced over at Marcello's worried face. The English boy clapped a hand on the Italian's shoulder and smiled reassuringly. Marcello smiled back, but continued to look worried.

The dishes were cleared up and soon Ludwig, Antonio and Francis had gone off to find Gilbert and Miguel to tell them of the day’s plan. As Lovino went to do dishes, he leaned down to hiss into Peter’s ear.

“We’re going to meet to go over the plan in three hours in the kitchen. We’ll be making dinner; we’ll kick the inn staff out if we need to. I’ll worry about shooing Arthur away and say I’m teaching you how to actually cook. That way we can talk properly about this.” Before Peter could respond, Lovino was away again, and Peter was left with Arthur. Arthur scooped the boy up in his arms and carried his up to his room.

"Something strange is going on with you, Peter," Arthur commented nonchalantly. Peter laid his head on Arthur's shoulder, closing his eyes and ignoring the older Brit. "I flickered. For a moment, but I flickered." Peter's eyes opened, a sick feeling filling is stomach.

"That's good," Peter said softly. "At least you didn't slip." They reached the room and Arthur went in and sat Peter on the bed. Arthur sat on the floor and laid his head in Peter's lap. Peter said nothing, listening with an emotion close to pity as Arthur repeated dark words to him. He felt so much older, even though really nothing had happened to him. He had just been kidnapped. Peter wasn't sure what it was that opened his eyes. Maybe the entirely of everything was finally dawning on him, maybe Marcello's questions had lead him into questioning his family and life.

"What happened while I was gone?" Peter asked gently, cutting off his brother.

"I flickered," Arthur answered quickly. "I was so worried, I...I might've told Matthew something I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, and...and I drank rum."

"You drank," Peter repeated angrily. Arthur let out a noise of agreement. Peter said nothing more, his anger vibrating through the silence. Peter sighed, running a hand through his brother's hair, deciding his next words. The boy didn't know how long he would be gone, but he needed Arthur to be able to go on without him. "Art," Peter began. "Francis loves you. I never wanted to admit that, but Francis loves you, and you love Francis just as much." Arthur was silent, so Peter took that as a sign to continue. "Brother, you need to understand. I can't...I can't do this anymore. You have Francis, and...I have to go on."

"Since when were you such an adult?" Peter flinched from the dark tone in Arthur's voice.

"Since you forced me to be," Peter replied. "Look, I can't be what you need me to be anymore, ok? You have Francis now, talk to him."

"So you're going to leave me because you finally realize how broken I am?" Arthur mumbled. "Because I'm not the brother you convinced yourself I was."

"No, because I want us to leave whatever darkness you're still stuck on!" Peter snapped. Arthur stood up and hugged Peter. Tears fell on Peter's neck, and the boy instantly regretted having saying anything. Peter poked Arthur. "Hey jerk, stop crying," Peter said cheerfully, making Arthur laugh as well. They stayed together, and soon they had fallen asleep. When Peter awoke, Marcello was poking his forehead.

"Time for your cooking class~!"

Peter smiled and crawled out of Arthur's arms. Marcello shot the older sleeping Englishman a sad look and left with Peter.

"So will you miss him?" Marcello asked.

"Didn't you miss Lovino and Feliciano?" Peter answered, making Marcello smile.

"Gee Pete, we're the same age but you act so much older," Marcello said.

"I'm sorry for not being a normal child?"

"I'm not. It makes you a good person, Peter." They reached the kitchen, and Marcello immediately tugged Peter over to the sink so they could wash their hands.

Over the course of making supper, Lovino took charge of the three younger boys and began detailing their plan of escape. After supper they would work on their respective letters and at two in the morning they were to meet in Lovino’s room as silently as possible. Lovino would leave their letters on a chair beside Antonio’s door. They would then head through the kitchens, which had a back door for garbage disposal, and escape into the streets. They had two hours to procure a cart and get out of the city gates. They would travel by cart along the border to France until they reached the Mediterranean Sea, at which time they would board a ship bound for Italy. Lovino planned to steal some money from Antonio, and hoped that this along with his and Feliciano’s daggers could get them that far. If nothing else they might need to collect things in the forest or something to sell for money in towns they passed. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was the best they had. They couldn’t risk taking a ship directly from the port because it would be too easy for the three pirate ships to follow them, since they knew their destination.

Lovino found himself staring hard at Peter once again. “And you’re sure about this? You are sure you want to come with us? It will be a hard journey and...” his voice dropped lower so Feliciano couldn’t hear, “There is a chance... there is a chance we won’t make it. When I said Feliciano would be coming back, I mean more in the sense that I expect those pirates to catch up to us sooner or later. Feliciano will go back willingly; I will be fighting and escaping. I don’t intend to have him take this path again, because travelling on land... there’s bandits, murderers... it’s dangerous. Are you sure?”

"I thought about this," Peter sighed. "Not a lot really, but yes. I want to go. I feel like this'll be good. I'll go with you three, but like Feliciano, I'm going to come back willingly if and when they find us."

Lovino nodded, looking a little relieved. “Yeah that... that’s best I think. You should probably put that in your letter too, actually, since it might help put Arthur’s worries to rest a bit. Anyway, let’s get this food on the table. Marcello’s shown you how to make the dessert, right?”

"Yes," Peter nodded. He paused, and then asked, "Where... whom is Marcello going to go with?"

Lovino grunted. “He’s going to stay with me and _Nonno_ obviously. He doesn’t have some stupid potato bastard holding him here and travelling with pirates is way too fucking dangerous for him, at least with him this age. If he grows up and decides to leave that’s his call, but for now, if I have any say in it, he’s staying where he’s safe.”

Peter nodded, satisfied with the answer. He helped with setting the food, barely noticing when a sleepy Arthur wandered into the kitchen. Marcello made sure that the ingredients for dessert were prepped before going to help.

"Hey _Cello_ , we're making the dessert after dinner, right?"

" _Si_."

Dinner passed rather uneventfully, considering Peter’s plans for later once all had gone to bed. The only thing to note was that it was halfway through dinner that Ludwig, Gilbert, Francis, Antonio, and Matthew who had also apparently gone with them, returned and Lovino swore and went to make more, only to have the inn staff shoo him out with the insistence that they had made dinner for the rest of the inn’s guests and were more than capable of giving some to the newcomers.

After supper, Francis had gathered up Arthur and Peter and managed to get them to their room quickly enough. The Frenchman turned to the Brits and gave a sigh, looking them up and down.

“You are both filthy,” he said decisively, a smirk curling onto his face, “I suppose it is... family bath bonding time!” Arthur looked un-amused whereas Peter looked partly ecstatic and partly shocked.

"Frog, last time I got into a bath with you, things didn't end well," Arthur sighed.

"I only bathe with Art," Peter said quietly, shuffling to stand closer to Arthur. "It’ll be rather cramped for all three of us in a little tub."

Francis scoffed, his smirk growing into a grin, “Oh hon hon, I’m sure there is room if we all sit close. And it is nudity that brings a family closer together! Mathieu can attest to that! Though of course,” Francis looked at Arthur pointedly, “I would never do anything... particularly like that with little Peter in the tub. This is just for fun!” His eyes suddenly widened in mock-sorrow, “U-unless of course, you do not wish to re-connect with your _petit frere_ after being apart so long?”

"Of course I do!" Arthur snapped, very suddenly grabbing Peter and holding him close. "It's just that...it'd be so..."

"Weird?" Peter offered helpfully.

"Yes, a bit," Arthur agreed. Peter glanced between Arthur and Francis, and then looked down at his scabbing wrists.

"Well! Anything's worth a try!" Peter said with a shrug. Arthur looked uncertain for a moment, then nodded.

"Fine, we'll bathe together."

“Ah, _oui_ , _splendide_!” Francis clapped, “I will draw the bath now~!” The Frenchman practically skipped into the bathroom to begin drawing a bath. From the room he called, “Make sure you are naked when this is finished! I already am~”

  
Arthur rolled his eyes, but indeed began stripping. Peter followed suit, slipping his pants down. When the brothers turned, Arthur laughed. Peter seemed to insist on keeping his hat on.

"You realize Francis is going to make you wash your hair, right lad?" Arthur said in amusement, smiling.

"Yeah, but I like it! Besides, I could always refuse, right?" Peter said, sticking his tongue out in a teasing manner. Arthur shook his head, still smiling, and snatched the hat away. The boy pouted, and Arthur ruffled his hair in apology.

"C'mon lad, let's just bathe," Arthur urged, running his fingers through Peter's hair. The two Englishmen folded their clothes and placed it with the other dirty clothes, wrapped themselves in towels, and entered the bathroom. Peter followed behind Arthur; hand on his back with his eyes closed in case Francis wasn't in the tub yet. Like hell was Arthur going to let Peter see Francis, of all people, naked.

However, Arthur’s worries were for naught as Francis was in the tub, surrounded by bubbles. Arthur wasn’t even sure how or when Francis got his hands on something to fill the tub with the suds, but there was enough to completely obscure everything beneath the tub’s edge.

“Come _mon petit_! The water is warm~” Francis chuckled, actually taking a handful of bubbles and blowing them across the room where they stuck themselves to Arthur’s hip.

"It feels warm," Arthur agreed, popping the bubbles with a small smile. He led Peter to the edge of the tub and got in. Peter, having opened his eyes, held onto his brother as he tried to squeeze into the tub.

"It's tight," Peter complained, finally being able to squish between the two older men. Arthur poked the boy in irritation.

Francis hummed, “Well, that only means that we are a closer family! Is that not wonderful?” He moved in the tub slightly so the water lapped up the sides and against their chests as he reached for the soap. “So, who is getting washed first?” Peter immediately pointed to Arthur.

"Why the bloody hell are you pointing to me?!" Arthur snapped.

"Because I'm clean~!" Peter laughed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Arthur gathered a handful of water and dropped it over Peter. "Hey!" Peter whined! "Not fair!"

Francis chuckled and shook his head, “I do not think so, _petit,_ I happen to know your hair is a much lighter colour than that naturally. Time to dunk your head~”

Peter pouted, and then sighed in defeat. "Fine." Peter took a breath and tried, as best he could, to sink lower and get all of his head underwater. When he came up, he sputtered out the water and furiously  
rubbed at his eyes. "Ow, I got soap in them!"

"Well why did you open your eyes?" Arthur laughed warmly, trying to rub Peter's eyes.

"So I wouldn't touch skin." Arthur rolled his eyes.

“And now, soap!” Francis grinned and began to run shampoo through Peter’s hair, scrubbing it furiously.

"Hey! Ow!"

"Oh stop complaining." Arthur helped Francis scrub at Peter's hair with one hand, and running a soapy rag over the boy's shoulders with the other.

After several minutes of this the boy was dunked under the water again to rinse and when he was deemed clean enough, Francis’ eyes turned to Arthur, a grin on his face once more, “And it is now _mama_ ’s turn, _non_?”

"I-I can get myself," Arthur said nervously, trying to back away.

"Get him!" Peter cried, smirking evilly while holding a rag. Arthur held the boy away as Peter tried to whack him with the rag.

Francis chuckled and used the opening to grab Arthur and yank him down so he was dunked under the water. He was only there a second before he was allowed up, sputtering and coughing, immediately assaulted by soap through his hair and around his body.

"H-Hey! Y-You two are getting carried away!" Arthur wailed. He tried shoving them away, but Peter had a firm enough grip on his hair. "Ow! Peter! Owch! Francis that's too hard!"

Peter only laughed. "Revenge is sweet."

“Hon hon hon hon!” Francis laughed and continued the assault, ending by dunking Arthur under the water once again so he would come up... more or less clean. The bubbles were beginning to disappear and the water was becoming slightly grey. “Ew,” Francis frowned, “Well, clearly I cannot be submersed in this, so I suppose you will have to leave me while I-“ Francis froze when he saw the calculating grins on the Britons. “Oh _non_ , you wouldn’t dare!” Francis gasped, backing to the edge of the tub.

"Actually, we would~!" Arthur said sweetly.

"You should have gone first~!" Peter said, voice just as sweet. The two leapt at Francis, forcibly shoving him underwater. When they let him come back up, he was sitting and sputtering out the water. Peter slathered his hands with shampoo and began scratching away at Francis's scalp. Arthur rubbed him down roughly, smirking with every protest and cry Francis let out. After one more final dunk, the two Englishmen released him, laughing.

Francis whined and pouted. “Ah, I am all gritty! I swear, I’m worse off than before! We could’ve cleaned the water...” Francis continued to complain as Arthur reached over to drain the tub. Then after shutting Francis off with a brief kiss, the Britons jumped from the tub and wrapped towels around themselves, tossing another to Francis who huffed and got out of the tub, refusing to properly cover himself as he dried off though neither Briton seemed to be looking at him anyway. The Frenchman then smirked, took his now-soggy towel and twisted it, whipping it out to whack Arthur’s ass cheek. “HON HON HON!”

"FRANCIS!" Arthur screeched, whirling around and glaring at the Frenchman as his hands reached down to rub at the red spot on his ass. Peter only covered his ears and walked away.

“Oh come on, you know you liked it~” Francis leaned in to kiss Arthur’s cheek before grabbing the Englishman’s towel from him and covering the man’s head with it, furiously drying his hair so that when he finally pulled the towel away it stood up in every direction. Francis laughed again at the sight. Arthur let out a growl, puffing out his cheeks and trying to flatten his hair.

"Don't do that!"

Francis tittered. “Oh, but how can I now when you make such cute faces, _lapin_?”

"Well, looks like you'll have to control yourself," Arthur pouted. "Or I'll mess up your precious hair."

Francis gasped. “ _Non_! You cannot... oh, you really cannot,” Francis grinned, “How will you mess up my hair when you’re all the way down there, _mon PETIT lapin_?”

Arthur growled and tackled Francis to the floor. Straddling the Frenchman's chest, Arthur smirked gleefully. "Who's _petite_ now?" Arthur laughed. He reached over and began to mess up Francis's hair. Twisting and shaking the long strands until it frizzed in its half wet, half dry state.

Francis screamed, really screamed, as though he were being murdered as Arthur attacked his hair. “ _NON NON NON!_ Th-the frizz! Split ends! What have you done to me? I-is this what Englishmen do to the ones they love? You’ve ruined me!” Francis began to weep dramatically, covering his eyes. “Do not look at me! I am hideous!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, feeling slightly guilty, even if his love was being a drama queen. He began to run his fingers through Francis's hair, straightening out as best he could with only his hands. "Just brush it, it'll be fine," Arthur said reassuringly. "Your still stunningly handsome, you big baby." Arthur placed a gentle kiss onto Francis's crown. "C'mon, let's go brush your hair then."

Francis sniffled, but allowed Arthur to help him to his feet, immediately grabbing his brush and gave his best effort to make it as silky and soft as it was normally. When he finished, Arthur was certain it looked the same as always, but Francis insisted that there was still irreversible frizzy damage and marched into the bedroom past Peter without looking at the boy and immediately burrowed into bed, covering his entire head with his pillow, refusing to come out. Or, for that matter, put any clothes on.

“If my hair is a mess, I need to use my body to distract the world from my mangled locks!” The Frenchman cried. Peter glanced at Arthur, one eyebrow raised in a questioning way. Arthur only shook his head. The boy, already dressed in fresh clothes, had been reading through his book of fairytales, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed. Arthur pulled some pants on, and then sat on the bed next to Francis.

"Er, should I...go?" Peter asked, face turning red.

"Sure, go play with Marcello," Arthur urged. Peter shook his head, but got up and left. Arthur turned back to Francis and lay next to him. "I'm sorry, love," Arthur said quietly, repeatedly poking Francis on the  
shoulder.

Francis groaned and raised the pillow to peek out at Arthur with one big, blue eye. The eye was narrowed. “ _Non_. You think this is funny. You think it is funny how you have hurt my lovely hair and you find how I am acting now to be funny. You’re not sorry about what you did at all.”

"Francis it's just hair! I know your hair means a lot to you, but I never thought it would mean this much! Take it from my point of view! I have never met a dramatic person like yourself until you sunk my ship. Of course I'll find this funny, because it's not in my culture to care very much. I really am sorry I messed up your hair, and I'm sorry that I do find this funny." Finishing his little speech, Arthur crept closer, wrapping his arms around Francis.

Francis huffed and pouted, pulling the pillow over his head for a minute before peering out again to look Arthur in the eye. “You owe me, _mon petit_. I will forgive you if you give me something to prove how sorry you are.”

Arthur kissed Francis's cheek, a small voice in his head telling him he'd probably regret his next words later. "Anything Francis, anything you want."

Francis hummed, looking serious. “You swear? On your life, you give your word as a gentleman that you will give me whatever I want?”

Arthur gave the other an unsure look.  "Within the sophisticated and proper English reasoning I've been born and raised by as a gentlemen, yes," Arthur replied.

“In that case,” Francis suddenly broke into his MOST lecherous grin. “I want you to give me the gift of seeing you in a dress, paraded about the inn in such a fashion, and then seeing you panting and wanton beneath me... still in the dress. That is not too much for my forgiveness, _non?_ ”

Arthur blushed, the words running through his head over and over again. Oh lord how he wanted to scream, wanted to deny the Frenchman his wish. For messing up his hair, a dress?! Ridiculous! But he had promised, on his honor of being a gentleman, he had promised. Gritting his teeth and glaring darkly, Arthur nodded slowly. He wasn't too mad, partly because they didn't have a dress to dress up in. Neither did they have the money to buy one. Still, the very idea pissed Arthur off.

"Fine!" Arthur growled. "I'll wear a damn...dress."

At this, Francis squealed, really squealed, and jumped out of the bed, rushing to grab pants before flinging open the door to the bedroom. He spun on his heel to point at Arthur. “DO NOT MOVE! I need to go speak to Feliciano and Antonio~” And with that he swung the door shut and raced down the hall.

Arthur laid there, shocked. He growled then began to scream out profanities in English, Welsh, and Gaelic, the three languages melting into one another at times. Peter and Marcello poked their heads in, watching in amusement as Arthur angrily paced.

"Is he gunna be okay?"

"I think he really, really needs more tea."

After some time had passed, Francis returned waving the very same dress Feliciano had worn the day Peter had been kidnapped. Lovino’s dress may have been sold for ransom money, but Feliciano had kept his and was more than willing to share it when Francis had told him that Arthur merely wanted to learn about the wonderful world of cross dressing.

“Here Arthur,” Francis held out the dress to him, “It might be a little tight on you, but all the better, _non_? Hon hon hon...”  Arthur blushed, eyebrow twitching in irritation. He glared up at Francis, dress in hands.

"What, no heels or ribbons or flowers?" he growled. His pride was at stake here! Arthur was close to punching his lover!

"Artie's wearing that?" Peter laughed, Marcello giggling behind him.

"S-Shut up Peter! And get out! I'm going to change!" Peter shooed Marcello away, but didn't leave.

Francis gasped, “But of course the dress already has ribbons! Flowers would have been a nice touch though...” Francis shrugged, “I would have heels as well but your feet are too far apart in size from Feliciano’s, his feet are tiny in comparison really. The dress shall be enough I think, now change!” Francis settled himself on the bed and watched Arthur intently. Arthur couldn't help it, he face-palmed. Peter giggled, turning slightly to tell Marcello something. With an angry sigh, Arthur pulled off his pants and, with great confusion, pulled on the dress.

"This is terrible," Arthur groaned. The dress was tight, hugging the Englishman in a way that showed off his already slightly feminine curves. "Bloody ridiculous!" Arthur tugged at the dress, trying to make it go lower than where it originally stopped at mid-thigh. "Why the bloody hell is it so short?!"

Peter cooed, Marcello poking his head back in and complimenting him in Italian. Arthur only blushed, glaring angrily and crossing his arms in defeat when the dress refused to lengthen itself.

"Bloody hell."

Francis gave another squeal and jumped off the bed to walk around Arthur to see him from all angles. “Ah _, oui_ , this is perfect! The length is just right- Feliciano had no problem with it after all. And oh~” When Francis got behind Arthur the second time he lifted the back of the dress, only to reveal Arthur’s boxers. He gasped. “ _Non!_ This will not do!” he ran to his bag as Arthur swore at him, pulling out a pair of white, frilly panties. “You must wear these as well! It will... complete the outfit. HON HON HON.”

Peter and Marcello burst into fits of laughter. "I will not!" Arthur cried, stomping his foot. "You said dress! You never said anything about those!"

Francis shook his head, still holding up the panties. “But Arthur, these are _part_ of wearing a dress! Who ever heard of wearing a dress with boxers? It is only right to wear such an ensemble with the undergarments proper for it! Now don’t argue, just put them on~”

Arthur snatched the garment away, glaring at Peter and Marcello as the two stumbled out of the room, still laughing. Arthur slipped off his boxers off. He made a pained face, but after much internal debate on his honor, and sending Francis a dirty look, Arthur pulled on the frilly panties. Arthur tried pulling the short dress again, frustrated when it would go no lower.

Francis sighed happily and once again made to turn around Arthur, this time giving a pleased giggle as he lifted the back of Arthur’s skirt to reveal the panties, laughing harder when Arthur snatched the skirt away and tried pulling it down again.

“Careful not to tear it, remember it belongs to Feliciano,” Francis chided, “And now... let us show the entire inn your delicious feminine figure!”

"W-Well stop pulling it up!" Arthur cried. Peter popped back into the room, hands on his hips.

"Did you say you were going to take him out?" Peter asked. "Like that?!" Arthur looked away, face red and grumbling under his breath.

Francis hummed blissfully and nodded, “Does he not looking darling this way? We simply must show him off, _non_?”

"No way!" Peter huffed, hugging the embarrassed Arthur. "Mummy's too cute to show off to just anyone!"

"Did you just bloody well call me your Mummsie?!" Arthur squeaked. He was partly touched Peter called him that, but mostly furious.

Francis pouted, “Oh, but that is why we need to show him off! So everyone can see how cute he is!”

"But he's too cute!" Peter huffed.

Francis shook his head, “But that is why I want to show him off!”

"Oh for the love of God! Just parade me out already!" Arthur snapped. Peter pouted, causing Arthur to scoop the boy up. "It's just your bloody pride," Arthur huffed. "Besides, I lost a bet."

"Just bite the wanker!" Peter huffed, drawing a chuckle from the older Brit.

Francis grinned again and quickly tucked Arthur against his body with his arm before opening the door and leading the Brit into the hallway. They moved down through the halls, passing a few gaping crew members and other inn guests, as well as Feliciano and Ludwig. Feliciano grinned and told Arthur he looked adorable while Ludwig merely blushed and averted his eyes.

They continued down the stairs and eventually entered the tavern where within a moment they were surrounded by Antonio, Miguel and Gilbert. Lovino and Matthew were sitting at a table still where they had been playing a card game. Lovino was face palming while Matthew was flushed and staring down at his hands.

The three men surrounding Arthur now were not so embarrassed.

“KESESE! Looking good, Artie!” Gilbert laughed, giving a hearty wink.

“Fusosososo! I wish my Lovi could dress up like this again...” Antonio said wistfully, ignoring the swears that came from Lovino right after.

Miguel snorted and shook his head. “How the hell did Francis get you to agree to this, anyway?”

"Don't ask," Arthur groaned, burying his red face in Peter's hair.

"Hmm, holding me probably isn't helping much," Peter snickered.

"Shut up Peter!"

Marcello only snickered, going to stand next to Lovino.

Francis grinned and waved his friends back to their table. He then leaned in close to Arthur’s ear. “Now, would you like to stay down here and play cards like this, or would you prefer to leave Peter down here to play with Marcello while we finish up the last part of our deal?”

Peter blinked, only hearing a small part. "Huh?"

"Go play with Marcello," Arthur instructed, setting Peter down and giving him a light shove. Peter gave his brother a look, then shrugged and went over to Marcello next to Lovino. Arthur huffed, and followed Francis back up the stairs to the room, aware of Francis's arm around him and of the looks he was getting. Oh he was so going to kick Francis later!

It was barely a moment after entering their room and closing the door that Francis pounced upon Arthur, plastering his lips to the Brit’s and reached down to pull the skirt up again, plunging his hand inside the frilly panties to stroke the bare skin of Arthur’s arse. When they broke apart at the lips, Francis could only chuckle.

“You are too lovely for your own good, _lapin_. I believe you attracted the stares of every man we passed! Hon hon hon... it made me very horny, how about you?” Before receiving an answer, Francis lowered his lips to Arthur’s neck and sucked there, squeezing the Brit’s arse now as well.

"F-Francis!" Arthur huffed, not sure if his face could get anymore red. He shoved Francis's hand away and tried to back away. Yes, it was part of the agreement, but they were barely in the room for god's sake! He didn't want to be in public with the dress, much less be molested while wearing the dress in public.

Francis chuckled, “Oh _lapin_ , there is no need to be so shy _cheri_. The door is closed after all...”  Francis pulled the struggling Brit to the bed and pushed him down on his back, pulling the skirt up again to get a full view of the panties beneath. Francis sighed. “Ah, the panties, the flushed face... it is too perfect! If only a painter could see this so that I might keep a likeness of this always... perfection!”

"Y-you're so perverted!" Arthur squeaked out, unable to really insult the other now. Flustered and embarrassed, Arthur tried covering his face and pretending he was dressed normally. As predicted, Arthur regretted his words and just wanted to be out of the dress already. "W-Wanker!"

Francis leaned over and gently pried Arthur’s hands from his face, kissing each of the flushed cheeks and then his lips before drawing away slightly. “ _Merci_ , thank you for indulging me, _lapin_ ,” the Frenchman whispered.

"Yeah? Well, it was just to stop you from crying over your hair, frog!" Arthur spat back. "And it looks the same!"

Francis grinned, “Well, luckily everyone was too distracted by your dress to notice my hair! Now then...” Francis suddenly pulled a ribbon loose and the bodice of the dress came undone, hanging open to reveal Arthur’s flat chest. Francis leaned down and hungrily attacked each of Arthur’s nipples, biting them, wetting them with his tongue, blowing cold air on them and pinching them until they were so erect they hurt. Under that stimulus, Arthur also found himself hardening down below, pressing and stretching against the panties.

Arthur let out a surprised moan, arms immediately wrapping around Francis's neck and his hips thrust up against Francis. "Ah, ah." It had been so long since they had done this, much too long, and Arthur found himself overeager for more.

Francis murmured words of praise for Arthur’s good behaviour as he travelled down Arthur’s body, reaching the panties and giving them a firm lick, teasing Arthur through the fabric. “I suppose you want these off... but you will have to wait, _mon petit_!”

"A-And why's that?" Arthur huffed through his aroused state.

Francis hummed, “Well, I suppose I want to play with you a bit more while you look so innocent...” he played with the waistband of the panties for a moment, then began to rub Arthur           through the fabric, “In fact, I’m toying with the idea of merely pushing them to one side and fucking you while you’re wearing them!”

"F-Francis, that's gross!"Arthur breathed out, his tone of disgust overshadowed by the moans that spilled from his mouth. He arched into Francis's touch, whining for more.

The Frenchman chuckled, “Silly, it does not matter if they get dirty, they do not belong to Feliciano! In fact, it might be best to keep them on and contain the mess. We do not want the skirt stained white when we return it! Hon hon hon!”

"T-Then let me take it off!" Arthur whined.

“ _Non_ ,” Francis said simply, “Now hush and let me pleasure you!” The Frenchman’s face was soon buried in Arthur’s panties again, licking and sucking through the fabric, effective in making the Briton achingly erect.

Arthur moaned loudly, hands grasping at the sheets on the bed as his head pressing to the side into his pillow. The actions being done left him groaning and trembling in pleasure. The constricting cotton was soon growing to be too irritating as Arthur tried to thrust into Francis's teasing mouth.

"F-Francis, o-off! T-Take them o-off!"

Francis sighed dramatically and pulled away, lightly tracing the bulge in the panties with the tip of his finger. “But if I do that, what will you give me in return?”

"This is the first time we're having sex since Alfred left! Isn't that alone enough?!" Arthur snapped.

“The... the first time?” Francis paused and blinked owlishly at Arthur for a moment before snorting in a very undignified manner. “Oh hon hon, you do not remember? The night after Peter’s kidnapping when you and I got drunk and made love in the closet? You do not recall screaming out in every language you know? Because I remember~ one of the very few things I remember from that night actually,” Francis hummed.

"W-We did?!" Arthur gaped. "I-I remember the drinks but...in a closet?! What?!"

“ _Oui_ , you were quite wanton if I recall.... though before that you were positively beastly. You were smoking in fact. But anyway, I think this is distracting us from our task at hand,” Francis squeezed Arthur through his panties, “So I ask again, what will I get for removing these completely?”

Arthur gasped while Francis continued to slowly tease him. "I can't think like this!" Arthur wailed. "What do you want from me?" Really, Arthur needed to start watching his words.

Francis hummed in thought, still squeezing Arthur’s clothed manhood. “Well... if I remove these now... I want you to keep them off for a week. You can go commando for a week, _non_? No one would know but us~”

Arthur growled. It wasn't the worst; Arthur knew Francis could come up with worse really. "Fine!" Arthur sighed. "J-Just take them off!"

“Really? So easily? _Zut_ , I should’ve tried something more _risqué_. Oh well,” with a shrug, Francis tugged down the panties carefully, noting that they were rather soiled with pre-cum. Arthur’s erection glistened with it as well as it was released into the air, only to be engulfed a moment later by Francis’ warm mouth. The Frenchman bobbed his head diligently, sucking and deep-throating with expertise, knowing full well Arthur would not last long at this rate. Arthur moaned, spine immediately arching in response.

"O-Oh god! Francis!" After all that teasing, it felt so good to the Englishman. Soon, Arthur released a load moan and shot out his load. Panting heavily, Arthur relaxed into the bed.

Francis moaned, licking up what remained of Arthur’s cum from his lips and swallowing everything down faithfully. Then he grinned. “Now I get to have my fun too, _non_?” Francis left Arthur for a moment as he went to fetch his lubricating oil, shedding his clothes on the way. He returned quickly, fully nude, and lifted Arthur’s legs, swirling a finger around Arthur’s entrance a moment before giving pause. Then, suddenly, he thrust the bottle toward Arthur. “Prepare yourself for me this time, _s’il vous plait_?” he asked with wide, hopeful eyes. “It would be _tres mignon_!” ((very cute))

Arthur groaned. "You’re getting too spoiled for just a bit of hair damage," Arthur said grumpily, taking the bottle in his hand.

Francis smiled as he crouched between Arthur’s legs for a better view. “But this isn’t for the hair! This is because you love me~”

Arthur rolled his eyes, face red. He smothered his fingers in lube, making sure that they were slicked properly before reaching down toward is ass. He slipped one finger in, probing around a bit before adding a second finger. He winced, feeling a bit awkward as he began to scissor himself, stretching. He gasped softly as one of his fingers softly brushed against his prostate. He groaned and added a third finger, angling his hand to hit his prostate again. Arthur backed onto his fingers, repeatedly pressing against his own prostate as moans spilled from his mouth.

“Hon hon hon...” Francis chuckled, quite aroused by this sight indeed. “Alright _lapin,_ I believe it is my turn, _non_?” The Frenchman gently pried Arthur’s hand out of him, moving up the man’s body to position himself at the stretched entrance, “Are you ready _lapin_?”

"W-Wait!" Arthur cried, throwing the lube bottle at the other. "You’re not going in dry!"

“Oh, how silly of me to forget!” Francis chuckled and opened the bottle, coating himself thoroughly before positioning himself once more. “Although you took me fine without lube in the closet...”

Arthur blushed. "Don't mention that," Arthur muttered.

“If you insist,” Francis said simply before lifting Arthur slightly and pushing himself in to the hilt, gasping at the tightness. “Oh, but of course since we had a break so long, you are nice and tight now, _non_? A-are you alright _cheri_?”

Arthur gasped, eyes screwed shut. "J-Just wait a bit," Arthur said. A few seconds passed, and Arthur nodded. "Alright, move now."

Francis nodded and began first to merely rock their bodies, then to begin actually thrusting in and out, shallowly at first and then harder, deeper, faster. Moans and gasps issued from both men as they moved together in fits of ecstasy. However, just as Arthur was beginning to feel himself building to climax, Francis stopped dead in his tracks, forcing Arthur’s eyes open to stare at him in frustration.

"F-Francis!" Arthur growled, trying to thrust back onto Francis's dick. "M-Move goddamn it!"

Francis however was staring toward the door and slowly the British man followed his line of sight and froze as well. The door stood open. It appeared as though Peter had been ready to go to bed and... now he seemed rather shell shocked.

“Ah...” Francis looked down at Arthur now, then back to Peter, “Could you leave us alone a few more minutes _petit_?”

Arthur's hand flew to the covers yanking and tugging to pull the covers over himself as he pulled away from Francis. Peter only looked at Arthur with wide blue eyes, and Arthur returned the look with similar wide green eyes. "P-Peter," Arthur tried, but Peter raced away. The Englishman blinked, stunned.

Francis sighed and looked back at Arthur, “I assume you will want to chase him... or...” he tugged at the blanket slightly, “Would you be adverse to finishing quickly?”

Arthur shook his head, standing up, his erection having wilted, and yanking the dress off carefully. "I have to go after him," Arthur snapped, "I-I never...he shouldn't have...I have to talk to him!" The Englishman groaned and pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt, buttoning the shirt as he walked out the door. "Are you coming?" Arthur called over his shoulder.

“ _Un moment s’il vous plait!_ ” Francis called back and Arthur saw the Frenchman furiously trying to get himself to completion. Apparently Peter’s arrival had not wrecked the mood enough to wilt Francis’ erection as well. Arthur flushed as a few moments later there was a loud moan, and Francis was then at his side, wearing pants though seeming to have chosen to forgo a shirt for the moment. “Ah, that is better. Well, are we going?”

"I'm guessing wherever Marcello is," Arthur muttered, beginning to walk off with Francis at his side. "Which I'm assuming he's with one of his older brothers. Most likely with Lovino."

The two walked on to the Italian's room. The sound of a familiar voice made Arthur stop in his tracks. It was faint, but he could tell it was Peter. The Englishman yanked of Francis's arm, looking down another corridor.

"I hear Peter," Arthur muttered. "C'mon." Arthur followed the voice, eventually finding himself standing before a door that said _"Sobre las azoteas."_ Arthur blinked, looking at Francis. "What does that say?" the Englishman asked.

“Rooftop,” Francis replied quietly, “They are on the roof? Well I suppose it is a warm night, the stars are likely beautiful _cheri_.”

"The roof?" Arthur blinked. "The bloody hell are they doing up there?" The Englishman opened the door, slowly going up the stairs. Peter's voice was definite, and Marcello's soft voice was occasionally heard over Peter's crying.

"I-It was gross! So sick Cello!"

"But they're grown lovers, _si?_ I think they're allowed to...do that. B-Besides! You should have knocked, Peter."

"How did I know they were going to...to do THAT! W-Whatever that was! I though the damn bastard was just going to show off Arthur around then that was it!"

Arthur winced at Peter's harsh tone, embarrassment crawling under his skin. It dawned on him, that while Peter may have accepted Arthur's relationship, the boy was still so painfully innocent to these types of things. It seemed as though Peter was blocking out whatever sexual exploits Arthur and Francis had, his childish mind unable to really understand. That and Arthur had really never explained sex to Peter.

Francis looked at Arthur with an eyebrow raised, “You have never told your brother about the wonders of sex? That poor child!” He reached for the door handle, “I must go and teach him then, hon hon hon...”

"No!" Arthur hissed, tackling Francis. "He's pure, you bastard!"

Peter and Marcello looked over to the door, hearing the sounds of what they assumed were Arthur and Francis fighting. In reality, Arthur attempting to strangle Francis while the Frenchman laughed and tried to get away. Peter looked back at Marcello, confusion radiating brighter in his blue eyes. Marcello shrugged.

"We can ask Lovino about what they were doing, and probably get yelled at, or ask them ourselves," Marcello said. Peter pouted and shook his head.

“But _lapin_ , he must learn sometime! And how else will you explain what he just saw?” Francis grinned, finally grabbing Arthur’s wrists away from his throat and holding them apart so Arthur could not strangle him anymore.

"H-He can learn later!" Arthur snapped. "H-He's just a boy!"

“Ah, but a boy who has witnessed _l’amour_! He must be curious, if you do not tell him he will surely ask someone else now,” Francis reasoned.

Arthur pouted. "Good point."

“So I may teach him?” Francis grinned and jumped to his feet, “Wonderful!” he flung open the rooftop door, “ _Bonjour petit_! Allow me to teach you the wonders of _l’amour_! I will make sure you know everything you need to know when we are done~!”

Peter and Marcello jumped in surprise, staring at Francis with wide eyes. "I have a bad feeling about this," Marcello whispered softly to Peter, who nodded in response. Arthur followed behind, looking worried.

"D-Don't get too graphic, frog!" Arthur warned. The two boys only blinked, and then stared up at Francis warily.

"The wonders of what now?" Peter asked nervously.

“ _L’amour_!” Francis repeated cheerfully, “Love, to the English! Oh and sex, love and sex go hand in hand just as two lovers... oh hon hon hon!” The Frenchman hurried to the boys and grabbed their hands, tugging them to a bench and sitting them down, standing before them... not so much like a teacher, more like an actor in front of an audience. “When two people who are lost to the throws of _l’amour_ come together there are times when a mere kiss cannot convey all their feelings and so they must join themselves together in the most intimate of ways!”

"AH! _Nonno_ tried telling me this!" Marcello wailed, slapping his hands over his ears. Peter blinked, wide eyes and looked from Francis to Marcello, then slapping his own hands over his ears. Arthur was laughing.

Francis’ eyes widened and he looked rather offended. “Oh, but this is important education! Arthur, tell him he must listen! No lesson could be more vital to a young man!”

"Marcello, you can go if you want," Arthur said; a smile still on his face. "This is for Peter really. Peter, listen up, because you probably won't get this talk from me."

"So I don't have to hear about his wiener wienny thinggie?" Marcello asked. Arthur only laughed in response. Peter blinked in confusion, hands slowly falling from his ears back to his lap as he looked at Marcello.

"Your Grandpapa tried telling you about his wiener wienny thingie?" Peter asked. "That's so weird." Arthur shook his head, trying to smother his smile behind his hand.

“Ah, _bon_ ,” Francis clapped, “Now then, Peter, when you reach the marvelous time in your life known as puberty to the English, you will start to feel... what is the word... urges? _Oui_ , and as your body goes through changes such as growing of body hair and your voice lowering to a more manly tone your most manly part, your, er... did you call it a... wiener?” The Frenchman scowled, “Well, your manhood, your cock, your penis to use the technical term... this will become the focus of the most important change. Your testicles will grow large and your penis will at times become excited and harden into a glorious erection. Sometimes it will be because of touch, or because you see something such as your naked lover, or someone you wish to be your lover, or sometimes it grows hard when you have a dream about naughty things... oh and when that happens sometimes you wet the bed but that is not pee! Hon hon hon... And sometimes your penis will get hard for no reason at all it seems, and sometimes when you look at a phallic shaped object for too long, or sometimes when you look at feet if you like that kind of thing and then there are fetishes... but _oui,_ sometimes it will get hard. And when it does, you will be ready to partake in the greatest of all possible expressions of love, SEX!” Francis yelled this so loudly the people on the street below looked up in confusion. Though of course those people spoke Spanish, so they did not know what was being yelled. “Oh and this is my favourite part of this lesson!”

Peter and Marcello stared at the Frenchman with innocent wide eyes, slowly processing what Francis had said. It dawned on Marcello first, who immediately began to blush red, mumbling things in Italian as he covered his face with his hands. It took Peter almost two minutes for his brain to kick in and a looks of disgust and bewilderment to cross his face. Even Arthur was staring at the Frenchman with wide eyes.

Francis chuckled lightly, “Oh sex... well, in nature it most often happens between a man and a woman. In this case, a woman who is excited in such a fashion will become wet inside her vagina, that is a special hole that women have to produce babies from between the anus and urinary tracts by the way... oh! But when she becomes excited by her lover or random phallic object she will become lubricated naturally and will become extra sensitive inside this hole. And when your penis and her vagina are the most sensitive, you will put your penis inside of her vagina and move it in and out, in and out, creating a friction most intimate that will culminate in a wonderful orgasm, the feeling of which I cannot begin to describe and must be felt to know how glorious it truly is! Now when men such as ourselves have our orgasm inside of a woman’s vagina, then we have a chance of impregnating her with our child, which will grow inside her and later come out of the vagina. This is where babies come from! But of course there is also anal sex, which can be done between two men, or a man and a woman. Though the ass does not produce its own lubrication, so one may use special oils, or saliva, or a myriad of other slick substances to slick it up and this is very important to satisfy both lovers! But inside of the man’s anus is a special spot where there are many nerves placed close together and when it is hit just right by fingers or cock oh.... for some the pleasure is so great it is like having orgasm after orgasm... it is wonderful!” Francis sighed, “And then there is oral sex where one partner sucks and licks the genitals of the other and there are so many POSITIONS!”

The eyes of the younger boys widen, and immediately they race to Arthur. The surprised Englishman holds the two boys as they began to go off rapidly with questions, one in English and the other in Italian. It's obvious that they no longer have that ignorance, yet they wish to know no more.

"Boys, boys," Arthur huffed. "Be calm."

"You did THAT with him?!" Peter screeched, his voice reaching a few levels higher midway through.

" _Bambinos_ come from that?" Marcello asked shrilly, his accent much more prominent as he struggled to speak English, not Italian, through his flabbergasted state. Arthur only noted, wincing when the two boys let out disgusted screeches. Really, the poor lads were freaking out so much.

"Oh Lovino's going to kill us," Arthur muttered.

Francis hummed, “ _Oui_ , I seem to recall him head butting me off the side of my ship when I gave such a talk to Feliciano, though Feliciano seemed to take it much better than this,” he frowned slightly, “But that is part of _l’amour!_ Well... perhaps they are a little too young after all. Perhaps this is something best left to the early stages of puberty...” Francis mused on this, then gave a shrug, “Oh well~”

"Oh he's going to do more then head butt you this time," Arthur groaned. He knelt down and forced the two to look at him.

"It's fine, Francis was just being loony," Arthur assured them.

"So it's all a lie?" Marcello asked hopefully, Peter looking just as hopeful. Arthur grimaced.

"Yes and no," Arthur muttered. "Look, for now, all you need to know is that you should probably walk away next time you hear weird noises coming from a room. And that babies come from magical mulberry bushes." The two boys seemed to easily believe the lie, effectively calming down. Arthur sighed and stood back up, scooping the two boys into his arms. "Now, what's say we go to bed?" Arthur suggested.

“Magical mulberry bushes indeed... hon hon hon...” Francis chuckled and heading for the door back inside, “Let’s go, then. We set back out to sea tomorrow after all. Little boys need lots of sleep for the big day ahead~”

"Brother, can I sleep with Marcello and his brothers tonight?" Peter asked sweetly. Arthur looked surprised. Not at the request, no, if he was Peter he'd want to be far away from Francis as well. No, what surprised him was that the two brothers were sleeping together despite what had been discussed earlier before. Arthur glanced over at Francis before turning to the two hopeful faces. He was such a sucker for children.

"Well, if Feliciano and Lovino are fine with it, then it's alright with me," Arthur replied.

Francis’ eyes lit up, and Arthur could tell the Frenchman was already hoping that they might continue their activities from earlier once the boys were safely tucked away in a different room. “Ah, _oui_ , I am sure there will be no trouble with that!”

Arthur and Francis walked the boys over to Feliciano's room, which was where the Italians were sleeping according to Marcello. When they reached the room and knocked on the door, a disgruntled Lovino answered. Indeed, the two Italians were sleeping together, much to Arthur's surprise. The only explanation given was that Marcello and Lovino had raised enough hell for poor Antonio, and the Spanish man had relented. Arthur told the grumpy Italian of Peter's wish to spend the night, and Lovino answered with a curt nod and took the two boys in, immediately setting them on their feet. Arthur bade Peter a goodnight, and the younger boy gave a much more heartfelt goodbye. Lovino nudged him, and Peter quickly gave Arthur a hug and ran into the room with Marcello. Lovino only nodded again, a look in his eyes that left Arthur feeling a little suspicious. As the door slammed shut, Arthur caught a bit of Marcello telling Feliciano of his lesson up on the rooftop. Arthur shoved Francis, who had also heard and was laughing.

"Run you wanker!" Arthur snapped, grabbing Francis's hand and running off before the older Italian realized what Francis had taught Marcello and decided to extract revenge.

“WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FROG BASTARD?!” the loud cry came, followed by many curses in Italian as Lovino burst from the room and followed Arthur and Francis at full speed. Even as the two managed to get their room door shut and locked by the time Lovino reached them, the eldest Italian hammered on the door and screamed more words of fury for nearly twenty minutes before his voice began to grow hoarse and at last he ceased, stomping angrily back to his own room. Francis giggled, slightly.

“He gave up sooner than I thought he would,” the Frenchman mused, “I suppose he’ll get back at us tomorrow, _non_?”

"I'm almost afraid to leave the room tomorrow," Arthur shivered, adrenaline coursing through his veins and a smile spreading across his face. "Bloody frog."

Francis looked at Arthur’s face merely a second before an identical smile bloomed on his own face. “Hon hon hon...” Then Arthur found himself abruptly pinned back to the bed, his pants off before he had a chance to catch his breath. Forget leaving the room tomorrow... Arthur wouldn’t be certain if he could leave the bed.

 


	18. Parting and Reunion

**Chapter 18: Parting and Reunion**

Peter awoke from his light sleep, opening blue eyes to see Feliciano smiling over him. For a moment, he was confused. He blinked away what little sleep that had accumulated in his eyes, and he finally realized what was going on.

"Ok," Peter nodded, jumping out of the bed and dodging out of Feliciano's way as he went to wake up Marcello. The boys helped Feliciano in packing what little they were taking while Lovino went to deliver the notes. Peter slipped away from the others, standing before Arthur's door with a sad look on his face. He was leaving it all behind now. Alfred was forever lost to them, and Arthur was finally beginning to come out of the walls he had built. Now, Peter needed to go and find a change in himself. Marcello appeared out of nowhere, and Peter followed him quickly to the kitchens. Peter muttered a small apology to Lovino, who was scowling at him. But it mattered not to the child; Peter was doing this because a part of him said it was what was right for him.

Finding a cart had been hard and easy at the same time. Lovino had once again taken charge in trying to get a cart, but wasn't very successful until Marcello helped barter out a price. All the while, Peter and Feliciano sat nearby in a melancholic sadness. Occasionally their eyes met, and an understanding ran through the two, a small smile from both furthering the understanding.

Soon, they were in the cart and riding out of the city. Peter watched the crown of the sun begin to peak out from the east. The others would be awake soon. But by the time they realized they were gone, the runaways would be out of the city and a small ways away, making it impossible for the ships to follow them, though Peter had no doubt that they would follow. Money-less or not, they would come.  
Peter leaned against his seat, his face blank as he tried to calm the storm in his heart. He was alone, truly alone without another Kirkland to ever be with him until the ships caught them. What would happen then? Peter shook his head, trying to calm down. Blue eyes flickered over to the others. Marcello looked happy. He had accomplished his mission in bringing home his siblings. Feliciano looked sad, and Lovino had on a blank face, the storm in his heart visible through his eyes. Peter guessed it was the same with him.

Feliciano sighed softly, as the rode into the rising sun. “I hope Luddy will not be too upset when they find us. I told him in my note that when they catch up to us I’ll surrender to them as soon as I’m sure _Nonno_ is okay.”

Lovino snorted, “ _Chigi_... he won’t be mad... damn it... I don’t approve of the bastard, don’t get me wrong but... he knows that this kind of thing is important. And you’re going back with him later so... that’s fine.”

Feliciano nodded. “ _Si_ , you’re right _fratello_. But what about Antonio? Aren’t you worried about him?”

To this, Lovino flushed with rage. “Of course not! He’s always known I’d fuck off and leave him at the first good opportunity, and I said that in the letter too!”

Feliciano cocked his head to one side. “Ve~?” He frowned, “Why are you lying, Lovi?”

Lovino twitched. “I-I’m not lying! Shut up!” The eldest Italian turned from where he was driving the horse to look at Peter and Marcello, “You two are doing fine, right?” His eyes bored into Peter’s, “You left a proper note explaining things to Arthur, _si_?”

"Yeah, I told him not to worry and that when they came for me, I'd go back," Peter replied. He had also left much more in the note, describing his confused emotions and his uncertainty that led him to go off with the Italians, but Lovino really didn't need to know that.

" _Si_ , I'm ok _Fratello_ ," Marcello nodded, smiling warmly. Of course the boy had every reason to be. He had set out to find his brothers, and find them he did. Now, they were going home. Of course, having a friend accompany them was a plus, although Marcello felt bad about taking Peter right after Arthur had just gotten him back.

Lovino nodded, slowly, “Alright. S’long as you’re sure...” Feliciano huffed slightly as Lovino faced front again. Lovino’s eyebrow rose. “What’s your problem?”

Feliciano looked at Lovino with a shockingly angry expression. Of course, Feliciano’s angry expression was adorable, but it was so rare to see that Lovino found it off putting. “What did you really put in your letter to Antonio?”

Lovino flushed red again. “I... nothing! I told you already!”

“But you were lying, ve!”

Lovino growled, “Fine! I just said... I said that I... that I did...” the eldest Italian’s eyes seemed to hold a faraway look in them. “I did... I do... l-l-lo... I don’t hate him that much,” Lovino shrugged, clearing his throat, “But even so, I have _Nonno_ and Marcello to care for and I can’t stay with him when I have other duties.” Lovino looked hard at Feliciano, “S-someone once told me... that the sacrifice of a happy family is the eldest child. I think that’s true,” Lovino sighed, “If I have to, I’ll sacrifice whatever I need to, to keep you all happy. _Ch-chigi_...” Lovino looked away as Feliciano’s eyes widened and grew teary.

“I-I’m sorry, _fratello_...” Feliciano said softly.

“It’s not your fault,” Lovino shrugged moodily, “Now everyone shut the hell up. It’s a long road to Italy from Spain, and I’m not going to have you _idiotas_ giving me a headache so soon into it!”

"You’re such a good big brother," Peter hummed, smiling sadly. Marcello nodded.

"S-Shut up!"

The ride continued, making it's way past the other smaller cities. The sun was rising now, and by now the crew had most likely awoken and found the notes. The steady pace had put them a good distance away from the original city, and Lovino was driving a good enough distance away from the coastal towns, though still managing to drive alongside the Mediterranean.

\-- --

Everyone was sitting around a table in the tavern quietly. Antonio, Ludwig and Arthur still held the letters that had been discovered this morning beside the Spaniard’s door. Ludwig was quiet, but seemed at peace with the situation. Of course he would be, he already expected the Italians to pull such a stunt and Feliciano had assured him that he would return to him as soon as the ships were able to travel to Italy.

Antonio looked upset, but was taking things better than anyone expected. Then again, he too expected the Italians to try something like this. However, he had read that letter from Lovino many times now and had run his hands over it so much that some of the ink had smudged onto his fingers.

Arthur, too shocked to move or speak, looked lost. A steady stream of silent tears flowed from his face. Yes, he might've expected this from the Italian trio, but to have Peter abandon them, abandon him, so soon after they had just gotten him back? Arthur tossed the paper away, knowingly drawing unwanted attention through his childish act, and covered his face with his hands. It was too much, just too much, and it was killing him. He was alone. Fully alone.

It wasn’t a moment later that Francis’ arm wrapped around Arthur’s shoulders, tugging the Englishman into the Frenchman’s side. “ _Mon petit_ ,” Francis said softly, stroking the man’s shoulder, “It will be alright. As said in his letter, we will meet up with him in Italy. It may take some time, but you will see him again.”

Arthur said nothing for a long time, the words from the letter whirling round and round in his head, confusing him and making him even lonelier. Round and round, like a teasing pin digging into his side. Long buried words, shouted at him as he ran far away with an unconscious child in his arms, rise to the surface and poison the loneliness. Arthur's clinging to his lifeline, the small promise Peter gave to him, but bitter words swallow him whole.

"I want Scott," Arthur said hoarsely. "William...Edward. I want my brothers." Because damn it all to Hell, they were right again. Peter left him, and he was so lost. They were right, and Arthur longed for the comforting pain that Scott predicted Arthur would long for, if Peter ever left. And how damn right they were!

Francis frowned and held Arthur tighter, “Hush, Arthur, you do not mean such things! You are upset, but going back to them now will not make you feel any better. There is no happiness with them. If you went to them, you would never see Peter again. Lovino and Feliciano will care for Peter for now. The boy only needs to spend some time away. He said himself; he wants to find a change in himself. He wants to find a way to grow on his own- you yourself had a rebellious phase, _non_? And yours could be considered much more destructive. Peter may have left, but he will come back to you. Does that mean nothing?”

"And what if he doesn't?" Arthur whispered. "I didn't. What if he doesn't either?"

“Well that...” Francis trailed off and then cleared his throat, “That is a different situation entirely. You are better off away from your older brothers if the tales you have told me about them are true. Peter has no reason not to return to you. Even if he distances himself from you a little, he will still love you and care about you wherever he is. And he WILL return to you.”

Arthur said nothing. He looked up at Francis pulled him close, burying his face into Francis's neck. "Promise me you won't let me slip then," Arthur murmured softly against Francis's skin, knowing the other would hear him. "Promise me Francis, because I can't be alone."

Francis sighed quietly, holding onto Arthur. “You will not be alone. I am here... Matthew is not far either. You are not alone; I will not leave you alone. But you must promise not to leave me alone either, _oui_?”

"I'll never leave you," Arthur swore his tone dark and laced with underlying emotion. He stood up, rubbing furiously at his eyes, and nodded.

Miguel coughed loudly. “Well, um, this is sweet and all, but we really should start heading out of port now. I’m assuming we’re headed for Italy, so we’ve got the perimeter of the Spanish peninsula to travel... it’s going to take a while.”

“ _Ja_ ,” Ludwig nodded, folding Feliciano’s note and tucking it away carefully into his pocket. He stood abruptly, “Let’s go.”

"Let's go then," Arthur said, his tone light and completely polar opposite of his tone with Francis.

The journey to the ships was strangely solemn for the group. Matthew and Francis had come to the agreement that, although Matthew had somewhat forgiven Francis, he would still be living with Gilbert on the Prussian ship, at least until they reach port in Portugal so Matthew could see if he liked spending so much time with the German.

Though once they were out to sea, Arthur found Francis glaring off across the water at the Prussian ship, where Gilbert could be seen with his arms around Matthew from behind. The Frenchman looked like he was going to punch something.

“ _Zut!_ ” Francis swore, suddenly, “ _Mon_ Mathieu is going to be deflowered tonight and... and I can’t do anything about it!” He groaned, “I cannot believe it has come to this...”

Arthur said nothing, staying close to Francis's side. He glanced over at the two on the ship across, his lips twitching as a small part of his maternal instincts dug past his darker emotions. "How do you know that, Francis?" Arthur asked.

Francis sighed heavily, “I see the look on Gilbert’s face. I have known him many years; that is his look when he fully expects to be getting laid. And I have known Mathieu most of his life. He is a little nervous, but the way he is smiling... he is accepting the affection from Gilbert. He will succumb to the temptation... Gilbert is forceful by nature and Matthew is accommodating. Matthew is running on an emotional high of being away from me for the first time and will be feeling more daring... there are too many stars in alignment,” Francis folded his arms and sighed again. “It seems there is nothing that can be done. Mathieu will no longer be pure this time tomorrow...” Francis sniffed and within a moment was leaning over Arthur, sobbing out dramatic tears over his little boy all grown up.

Arthur blinked in surprise, patting Francis's back awkwardly. He could offer no words of comfort, only soft pats and rubs that conveyed his intended emotions. It was then that shouts were heard from the crow’s nest. Francis and Arthur looked up in surprise, Francis’ tears drying abruptly as Jaques ran toward them.

“ _Quoi s’agit-il_?” Francis asked with a frown, “ _Qu’est-ce qu’il criait-il_?”

Jaques took a breath and looked grim. “ _Un navire russe a été repéré et a modifié son cours vers nous._ ”

“ _Merde_ ,” Francis cursed, “What could Ivan possibly want now?” He knew it was most likely Ivan, Russian ships weren’t that common in these waters and he knew Ivan rather liked Spain this time of year anyway. The French captain then asked if the ship was alone, and once that was confirmed Francis sighed a little in relief. If nothing else, he knew Ivan was probably not attacking if he was alone.

Arthur froze as the information sunk in. A Russian ship. Alfred. Arthur tried to wander off to get closer and a better look at the ship, but Francis stopped him. "Alfred," Arthur said softly. He took a step back to Francis's side, a worried look crossing his face as the ship neared. On the bow of the ship stood Ivan, smiling and waving like a child as usual. Francis hesitantly waved back.

“Ah, _bonjour_ Ivan!” Francis called, his nervousness as masked as possible, “What brings you to my ship again so soon?”

Ivan seemed to giggle, “Oh, well, two reasons actually! You will let me board, _da_?”

Francis winced slightly, but nodded to Claude behind him so a boarding plank could be set up between the two ships as the Russian drew nearer. Arthur glared at the man who had taken his son as Ivan crossed onto the French ship without worry, even as the Prussian ship drew up on the Russian’s other side, Gilbert watching angrily from his deck. Arthur’s eyes switched to the Russian ship, but could see no sign of Alfred among the Russian crew members. He was below deck then, possibly.

Ivan seemed to ignore Arthur as he greeted Francis, drawing him into a tight hug that seemed to choke the breath out of the Frenchman before dropping him.

“Now then!” Ivan clapped and held up one finger, “The first thing I need to tell you is that I don’t need you to look out for little Toris anymore, because I found him!”

“Oh,” Francis said faintly, unaware Ivan expected him to be on the lookout for the Lithuanian in the first place.

“ _Da_!” Ivan nodded, “He was with a Polish crew, but I managed to get my Toris back! The Polish man he was with escaped me though, so I didn’t get a chance to kill him for taking my Toris away. But now he is back!”

“W-well I’m glad to hear it!” Francis said, putting a smile on his face, “He was your cook, wasn’t he? Though has Yao not replaced him?”

Ivan’s smile faded ever so slightly before he shrugged, “Ah, Yao-Yao is my ship’s doctor now, actually. He is good enough at it. And while I am glad to have Toris chained to my stove once more I actually am more relieved that he can do my secretarial work again. Writing letters and documents for the ship is exhausting; I prefer making Toris do it. It helps that he is fluent in Russian and his handwriting is very neat, _da_?”

Arthur nervously tapped his fingers against his leg, eyes scanning the deck again and again just to make sure he hadn't missed Alfred among them. Arthur's eyes flickered over to the two captains, and he wanted badly to do nothing more than demand for Alfred. Sadly, Arthur knew he couldn't, Alfred was still so far, even if the Russian ship was right there.

Francis nodded politely to Ivan before clearing his throat slightly, “Well, while I’m quite glad you were able to reclaim your slave, you said there was another reason you have tracked my crew down?”

“Oh, _da_ ,” Ivan grinned brightly, “Well, it so happens Toris was recaptured with help on the part of little Alfred! I promised him if he helped I would let him visit with his father and brother, so I am here to reward him! Though since you seem to be on your way somewhere, the visit won’t be very long, but I thought a few hours wouldn’t be bad, da?”

At this, Francis’ face melted into a relieved smile in return, “Oh, _oui_ , that sounds fine, I’m sure they’ll enjoy that, but... where is he, then?”

Ivan hummed, “Well, I would like to set some rules first. Firstly, I want Alfred in my sight at all times. They must remain on the deck of this ship as well. So if you would call Alfred’s brother...?”

Francis flushed a little and looked away, “Er, well Mathieu isn’t... er... he is on Gilbert’s ship at the moment.” Ivan’s eyebrow rose.

“Really? What is he doing over there?”

Francis coughed slightly, “Just... visiting.”

Arthur's eyes widened, immediately snapping up to look at Ivan. He was going to see Alfred! Publicly, yes, but that really didn't matter. "Please, can you just bring Alfred up?" Arthur asked quietly, anxious to see his son.

Ivan hummed, “I suppose so, _da_?” The Russian called back to his ship in his native language. Within moments, Alfred was crossing the ship’s deck hesitantly, flanked on either side by the tall, muscular paid crewmembers that Ivan had to keep his slaves in line. Alfred beamed though, when he saw Arthur and broke into a run. The two Russians made to grab him, but stopped when Ivan shook his head, an oddly gentle smile on his face. Alfred crossed the plank between the ships and in a trice had grabbed Arthur and was swinging him around, joyful tears running down both their faces.

Francis sighed happily, “Ah... _merci_ , Ivan, I am grateful for you doing this for them. May... may I have permission to send a crewmember across your deck to fetch Mathieu from Gilbert’s ship?”

Ivan glanced briefly at the Frenchman before returning to smiling at the happy faces the two English speakers were making. “ _Da_ , go ahead.”

“ _Merci.”_

"Arthur! Daddy!" Alfred cried in pure happiness, uncaring of the pride he once had around the Englishman.

"Alfred! Oh my boy, my son, my son!" Arthur held on tightly, laughing and crying as Alfred swung them around and around. At last, Alfred but the shorter male down and simply hugged him, allowing Arthur to smother his face is kisses. "Oh Alfred, my son, I thought I had lost you forever," Arthur said tearfully. "Alfie, are you ok? Is he hurting you?"

"Dad, I'm fine, honest," Alfred said, rubbing his eyes. "I'm so happy to see you, I missed you."

"And I missed you," Arthur replied, hugging Alfred once more and running a soothing hand through Alfred's hair as the American sobbed into his shoulder. "Shh, it's alright Alfred, it's alright. I'm here."  
Alfred pulled away, smiling. It was then that Arthur realized the American had no glasses. This brought forth a frown, which made Alfred pout cutely.

"Dad, it's fine."

"Alfred you're practically blind!"

"Nah, I'm the hero! I can still see...sort of."

Arthur sighed and hugged Alfred once more. "I really missed you Alfred. A lot's happened since you left."

"I'll bet," Alfred chuckled, "Where's Peter?"

Arthur stiffened with a flash of fear across his face. Alfred noticed. "Artie?"

"I might've...I might've done some things that...that I shouldn't have done," Arthur said quietly. Alfred frowned, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but noticed Matthew approaching him. Seeing Alfred's wide grin, Arthur stepped away, allowing the American to rush over to his brother.

"Mattie!!"

“ALFRED!” Matthew screamed and pretty much threw himself at his brother, so hard that both stumbled backwards and nearly fell over. He mumbled into Alfred’s ear, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You- how? How did you get that... that monster to let you see me again? I-I thought I’d never see you again...”

"It cost the freedom of another," Alfred said sadly, "But I'd do anything for you Mattie, anything!" Alfred pulled away a bit, and wiped away the falling tears, smiling warmly. A fresh wave of tears gripped the American and spilled down his face. "Matthew," Alfred laughed, tightly hugging his brother than spinning him around just as he had done to Arthur.

Matthew’s smile, however, had faded at Alfred’s words and he pushed his brother back slightly once he had been put down again. “A-Alfred...” he said so softly, “W-what do you mean... anything? A-and... if it cost the freedom of another then... then...” The Canadian’s shoulders shook slightly, “W-what do you mean by anything?”

"Mattie," Alfred said gently, looking thoroughly confused. "I...I caught someone that Ivan was looking for, that's all. And by anything, I mean anything to keep you safe. Why?" Arthur looked guilty, taking another step away, but Alfred was too absorbed in his brother to notice his retreating father.

Matthew shivered and cast a tiny glance at Arthur before looking at Alfred with wide eyes. “Al... Alfred I... A-Alfred...” Matthew frowned, and then asked quietly, “Why do you always need to be the hero?”

"B-Because I need to be," Alfred replied guardedly. His voice was tight, eyes hard, and lips drawn into a thin line. "I am a hero, s-so don't worry about it, ok?"

"Alfred, I told him," Arthur blurted out, ashamed and hurt. Alfred's eyes widened in surprise.

"W-What?" Blue eyes flicked from the Englishman to his Canadian brother, fear in them. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," Alfred said, obviously lying.

Matthew’s eyes watered again and he took another step backward, “P-please Alfred... please... h-he was lying right? Y-you didn’t really... o-our parents you... d-didn’t...”

“Ah? What is this?” Francis asked in confusion. Ivan did not look confused however; he had long understood that the boy in Alfred’s story that he had told him not all that long ago had been him. Ivan knew exactly what this was about and he was rather interested in how this confrontation would end up.

"I-I...Matthew, I-I can explain!" Alfred stammered, tears welling in his eyes. He began trembling and tried to bring Matthew back into his embrace. "I-I was young, I was stupid. I didn't realize, Matthew they were so cruel to you! I couldn't stand to see you be invisible like that! You were starving for the attention they never did or never would have given to you! I got angry, a-and I did...I did...that. It was all for you Matthew, they never looked twice at you, even when you cried! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I never, never I swear to you! I never actually intended for any of this to happen. please, please forgive me Matthew! I'm so sorry I killed them! I'm sorry!"

By now, the American was sobbing and shaking unsteadily. Arthur bit his lip, bringing a hand up and reaching out to Alfred, before deciding to let it fall back to his side. He had ruined everything, Alfred and Matthew would never forgive him.

Matthew sucked in breath slowly, shaking. Then, abruptly, his eyes hardened. He looked at Arthur and spoke curtly. “I am sorry for calling you a liar, Arthur,” he looked back at Alfred, “You... you...” he shivered, “Even if... even if what he said was true then... why would you tell me that our parents loved us? Not saying you killed them... there are reasons for that but... why would you tell me stories about them singing me to sleep, making my favourite foods... why tell me those things... was everything you told me a lie?”

"I...I didn't want you to think badly of them," Alfred said quietly, his sobs calming down to tears. "I wanted you to think they loved you, b-because no child wants to hear their parents didn't acknowledge their existence. I was going to tell you when we were much older, b-but I guess..." Alfred looked at Arthur, who turned away in shame. Alfred looked back at Matthew. "I have to be a hero," Alfred said quietly. "I have to be the hero, because if I'm not...then I'm nothing but an evil child who murdered his own parents."

Matthew would not meet Alfred’s eyes. “I... I can’t... y-you do realise I can’t... think of you the way I did anymore... ever again...?”

Alfred said nothing, looking down at his feet, silent. At last, Alfred spoke. "It's okay to hate me," Alfred said quietly. "For a long time, I hated myself. S-So it's okay to hate me, I understand. Just...just know that I love you Mat. You're my brother, and my only blood relative. I'm still going to strive to be the hero, and the perfect big brother for you. U-Until then, just...just think of me as a villain then. Because I'm not a real hero yet, but I will be. I'll be the greatest hero ever!" Arthur watched Alfred dissolve into tears once more, and he couldn't help himself this time. He went forth and pulled Alfred into a hug.

Matthew shivered and fiddled with his fingers. “I... I d-don’t hate you Al... I don’t... I just... I don’t know... m-maybe I need time for it to sink in but... but for now...” the Canadian took a deep breath, “Perhaps it would be best to... put it behind us and pretend I didn’t hear it... just for now?”

Francis grinned and whispered, “That’s my good boy.”

Ivan snorted, “Ah, well, I had hoped for more anger, but I guess the brother is too weak for that.”

Francis frowned. “Mathieu is not weak.” Ivan shrugged in response.

"No, he's just too nice," Alfred chuckled. "Francis...Francis raised him better than I ever could've hoped for. I, on the other hand..."

"Was raised by a violent man?" Arthur offered. "An idiot who had no real ambitions? A wanker? A man who breaks everything he touches?" Alfred smiled, shaking his head.

"No, by a heroic angel," Alfred said warmly. Arthur snorted.

At this, Ivan’s eyebrow rose and he gave Arthur a curious look. “So this really was your angel? I had wondered...”

Francis sighed irritably, “Well obviously I raised Mathieu better than you could- you were a child yourself at the time. Hardly the age for raising yourself let alone someone as soft and delicate as Mathieu!”

Ivan snorted, “I thought you said he was not weak, da?”

Francis frowned, “He’s not, he is soft and delicate, and that is not weak!”

Matthew looked upset. “I-I’m not delicate _Papa_!”

“ _Non_ , of course not Mathieu,” Francis smiled indulgently, making Matthew pout and fold his arms.

"I'm what now?" Arthur seemed confused, turning to Alfred for answers. The American only smiled.

"Well, I'm surprised Petey hasn't come and tackled me yet," Alfred laughed. "Where is he?"  
Arthur turned away, the lump in his throat leaving him unable to speak, and a fresh prickling or tears started up. "Dad?" Alfred asked curiously. "W-Where's Peter?" Alfred turned to Matthew and Francis for answers, seeing as the stone-still, closed-off Englishman would not answer.

Matthew hesitated a moment before answering, “W-well, um, i-it would seem that... well...” he took a breath, “When we were in Spain, Feliciano and Lovino’s little brother came into contact with us and was looking for his older brothers because their grandfather was sick. Antonio didn’t want the Italians to go back to their grandfather, so all three of them left in the middle of the night. A-and apparently, because he w-wanted an adventure without Arthur I guess, Peter somehow convinced them to let him come along with them. W-we’re sailing to Italy now, to meet up with them. Peter left a note saying he’d come back willingly once they reach there.”

At these words, Ivan’s eyes widened in excitement. “Oh, so the Italians and little Peter are all alone?”

Francis looked at Ivan in alarm, “Y-yes, but they travel over land so-“

Ivan hummed, “It is no matter... very interesting...”

Alfred scooped the Englishman up into a hug, the only response was a violent punch that Alfred dodged.

"Let go!"

"Nope!" Alfred quipped. "You're hurting. You're so close to letting go. I'll bet my life that you were begging for your brothers too." Arthur looked away, shame in his green eyes. Alfred nodded, and then turned to Ivan. " _Podsolnechnik_ , are you interested enough to take a detour?" Alfred asked. More or less, the two seemed to be on mutually equal terms, Arthur noticed, blinking with surprise as he looked from his son to Ivan. They weren't....Arthur couldn't even begin to bring himself to think the word.

Ivan grinned, “Why Alfred, I was just thinking such a thing! _Da_ , I would be-“

“ _Non!_ ” Francis gasped out, making all heads turn his way. The Frenchman shivered a moment before looking at Ivan with hard eyes. “What... exactly do you plan to get out of this, Ivan?”

The Russian’s eyes widened, “Whatever do you mean? I only wish to help little Alfred’s family be... re-united~!”

Francis shivered again. “You... you must want some sort of payment!”

Ivan chuckled, “Do not worry about payment. I will not ask for anything that you have in your possession, Francis.”

Francis frowned, “So... this is for Alfred?”

Ivan gave the American a surprisingly gentle look, “More or less.”

Matthew’s eyes widened now and looked at Alfred, “A-Alfred, i-is he telling the truth? W-why would he do that for you?”

"Mutual respect," Alfred said, trying to hide the warm smile he was giving Ivan. "That and sex with him is quite...interesting."

Arthur gagged, making Alfred laughed loudly. "Say it lad, just say it," Arthur said weakly.

"Ew! Not in front of people!" Alfred whined, face flushing a brilliant red.

Ivan pouted, “Aw, you won’t say it? Perhaps I will then, _da_?”

“Say what?” Matthew asked meekly, unconsciously stepping closer to Alfred as he looked at Ivan. Francis, too, raised an eyebrow in the Russian’s direction.

“Hmm, I don’t know, I’d really think that little Alfred should say it, _da_?” Ivan grinned at Alfred who immediately had Francis, Arthur and Matthew’s uncomfortable looks turned on him again.

"They're going to make fun of me," Alfred whined, turning even redder as his family looked at him.

Ivan frowned and looked irritated. “ _Nyet_ , they will not. Tell them, _da_? Or do you want me to do it instead? I really think they should know~” His lips quirked up again.

"Alright, alright," Alfred huffed, pouting childishly. "Ivan and I are, well, um. W-We're t-to- like Artie and Francis!"

"Bloody hell, you couldn't just say you were in a relationship?" Arthur asked, irritation overpowering his initial shock. Alfred only looked embarrassed.

Ivan giggled and hurried over to Alfred where he hugged him from behind. “ _Da!_ Little Alfred agreed to be my lover! He said he thought I would be happier if I tried loving just one person more than anyone else. I’ll admit I wasn’t sure about it at first, but Alfred has been very good so far... well when he stopped being a little brat about bottoming,” Ivan shrugged, and smiled, “I find that morale on the ship has improved too... probably my good mood rubbing off, _da_?”

Matthew shivered and muttered, “Or because you aren’t raping them as much...” he looked at Alfred with hard, but concerned, eyes, “So now you’re sleeping with your kidnapper, eh? And you’re... okay with that? You’re happy?”

Alfred shrugged, but his smile betrayed what he had intended to say. "I'm happy as can be right now," Alfred admitted. "I think that's really all that matters, don't you think? Yeah, it's weird, but no different from Arthur and Francis."

Said Englishman flushed red. "Sh-shut up!" Arthur huffed. Alfred laughed. The Englishman looked from Alfred's radiant face to Ivan's calm one. "I swear Alfred," Arthur sighed. "Just...just be safe, okay?"

"Of course!"

Ivan hummed and snuggled into Alfred’s shoulder for a moment before drawing away. “Anyway~ this visit is for Alfred’s benefit, so feel free to catch up with each other, _da_?”

Matthew sighed a little and looked at Alfred, “W-well... if you’re happy but... d-did he...” the Canadian’s voice lowered, “Did he hurt you at all? Gilbert said he... he usually does so...?”

Alfred waved a dismissive hand. "Sure, he did, but I think I actually got off kinda lightly," Alfred replied. Arthur scowled, feeling his maternal instincts kick in. "Oohps~! Mama bear's angry," Alfred snickered.

Ivan snorted and traced Alfred’s stomach with his fingers, “It was only some broken bones, _da_? And they’re completely healed now! Though the wrappings on your foot only came off this morning... how is that feeling, _lapushka_?” Ivan asked pleasantly.

Francis sighed, “Well, technically, that does sound like you let him off easy... in comparison to how you usually are...” Ivan shot Francis a stern look, making the Frenchman gulp and look away.

Matthew however, looked horrified, “B-broken... he broke your foot?”

"It's fine," Alfred told Ivan. "I told you to stop worrying about it, _Podsolnechnik_."

"And the wanker speaks Russian now?" Arthur asked in irritation.

"To answer Mattie's question, yeah, he broke my foot," Alfred said with a smile. "And Artie, I only know simple words, but Ivan's teaching me."

Matthew shivered and looked at Ivan briefly before focusing on Alfred again, “B-but... w-why?”

"Why not?" Alfred asked with a shrug of his shoulders. "Why did Arthur fall for Francis?"

"Stop using me as an example, you wanker!" Arthur interrupted.

"Why did Peter run off? Why's the sky blue?" Alfred continued. "Questions we could probably answer, but the words would only make sense in our own heads. So I fell for Ivan, and Ivan fell for me. Why? Like hell can I explain it."

Matthew shook his head, “N-no I mean, why did he break your foot?”

"Oh! Ahaha! Because I refused to call him my master," Alfred laughed. Arthur shook his head, muttering to himself in Welsh.

“ _Da_ ,” Ivan nodded, “Not such a hard thing I thought. But he was quite a brat the first few days. He straightened out fast enough though, after I also broke his wrist... and fingers... but then he became more docile and really that is all I ask for. Then he became very sweet!” Ivan hummed, “So I suppose, given the situation, I will get to join your little group of three ships for a while! Oh, and that means I’ll be near...” Ivan released Alfred and waved happily across his ship to Gilbert’s. The Prussian appeared to be swearing and glaring back at him.

“Gilbert will not be happy about that... but _oui_ , you know I will not refuse that request,” Francis nodded. Ivan giggled again in response.

Alfred glared at the albino, and then looked up at Ivan. "Hey! I'm right here you know," Alfred huffed, jealously sparking in his blue eyes. Arthur snorted, shaking his head. Alfred glanced at him, and the Englishman simply smiled.

"Well, at least we have you back for now," Arthur said softly. Alfred smiled, nodding.

Ivan shrugged and continued to wave, “ _Da_ , I will not do anything like that... but he is so fun to tease!”

Matthew huffed, “Y-you’d better not do anything, eh!”

"He won't," Alfred promised his brother. "But why does it really matter?"

 _'Airheaded as ever,'_ Arthur thought.

Matthew huffed, “Because... because Gilbert is my boyfriend, Al!”

Francis gasped, “So blunt!”

Ivan’s eyes widened, “AW! So Gilbunny deflowered you? No fa- uh...” he looked at Alfred, “Um... well good for Gilbunny!”

Matthew flushed bright red at that. “Wha- n-no! W-well not yet... b-but we um...”

Alfred's eyes widened. "Not my Mattie!!" Alfred wailed, latching onto Matthew. Arthur poked Alfred, who was dramatically rambling off about how fast Matthew had grown up.

"Al," Arthur sighed. "He'll be fine."

"Oh of course he'll be~!" Alfred laughed. "I'll make sure of that! My little innocent virgin brother will be safe, even if I have to walk on them every time they try to have sex!"

"Alfred, th-that's not what I meant!" Arthur stammered. Alfred only laughed.

Matthew looked horrified, “N-no Alfred! I-I don’t-“

“Ah, _oui_!” Francis clapped excitedly, “That is an excellent idea, _non_?”

“ _Papa_!” Matthew wailed and looked at Arthur with wide eyes begging for help.

"Aw Mattie, you know I'm kidding," Alfred laughed. "But I do wanna have a long talk with him. I want to know for sure you two are happy and in love." A mischievous twinkle sparkled in his blue eyes. "But I will try to keep you a virgin for as long as possible!" Alfred cooed.

Matthew whined again, “Y-you can’t decide when I l-lose my... my...”

Francis hummed and strolled over to Alfred, putting a welcome arm around his shoulders... or as high as he could reach seeing as Alfred was a bit taller than him, “I am on Alfred’s side, _non_?”

Matthew moaned, “W-well who’s on my side, eh?”

"I think it should be Matthew's choice," Arthur piped up. "It's what I was originally trying to tell Alfred anyway."

"Aw, you were supposed to be on my side," Alfred whined. Arthur shook his head.

Ivan grinned and took Alfred’s hand, pulling him away from Francis with a slightly feral look at the Frenchman. “I think I should inform my crew of the change in plans, _da_? If we are travelling with you then you will have many chances to see little Alfred again. Where are we making port next?” he addressed Francis curtly.

“Portugal,” Francis replied in the same manner.

“Then I will tell them! Come along, _lapushka_ ,” the Russian giggled as he tugged on Alfred’s hand.

"Wait," Alfred said, slipping out of Ivan's grasp and racing back to Arthur and Matthew. He scooped them up in a hug, and then released them. "Love you guys!" Alfred said brightly. He released them then raced back to Ivan, slipping his hand into the Russia's as Ivan offered it out. They crossed over back to the Russian ship, leaving the three staring after them.

"Well," Arthur said after a small silence. "That was...odd."

Francis sighed and rubbed his temple, “I don’t like Ivan being here... Gilbert and Antonio would like it even less so... but we have no choice. I suppose for the sake of Alfred being here, it could be something of a good thing.”

Matthew nodded, “Yes, for that... oh no! I have to cross his ship again to get to Gilbert’s ship!”

Francis smiled, “Well I’m sure Gilbert will come around and get you in time... until then you can bond with your _Papa_!” Francis enfolded Matthew into a tight hug.

“N-noooo I can’t breathe _Papa_!” Matthew choked out.

"Francis, let the boy breathe," Arthur laughed, his mood lighter and much livelier than it was before.

As predicted, the later meeting with Antonio and Gilbert was... less than well received. Antonio grimaced and Gilbert threw a chair across the room. Still, after some pleading from Francis and Matthew, at least for the sake of having Alfred nearby for a while, the other two captains relented. It wasn’t as if either really wanted to risk picking a fight with Ivan anyway. Well, maybe Gilbert would, but not if Matthew was going to be upset over it.

This is how Arthur found himself once again sitting comfortably in a cabin with Francis, Alfred and Matthew both visiting and sitting together. The scene was rather peaceful... or would be, had Peter been around instead of Ivan who was also in the room, apparently far too mistrustful to leave Alfred alone on any ship but his own for a second.

"So Peter was kidnapped, rescued the other kids while being rescued by you two, stayed for like a day, and then ran off with a friend he barely knew?" Alfred clarified. He had asked to be updated on what had happened since he left, so the three had told him of their misadventure.

"Yes, sounds right," Arthur sighed.

"Bold little jerk, isn't he?" Alfred snickered.

Francis nodded irritably, “Indeed, it was rather unexpected of him.”

Matthew sighed, “He’s just at that age, I think.”

Ivan hummed happily, “But we will make him come back, da?”

"Of course we will!" Arthur said sharply. "I'm not going to let him just go!"

"Now what was I doing at twelve-ish?" Alfred wondered aloud, leaning back in his chair. "Or is he thirteen?"

"I can't remember, but the age sounds right," Arthur sighed. "But I know you were already working in the navel around that age."

"Hmm, right," Alfred nodded.

Matthew cocked his head to one side, slightly, “W-what was I doing at that age, _Papa_?”

Francis thought for a moment. “Ah... I believe you had performing most secretarial duties on the ship by then... oh, and you were very proficient at the violin... OH! And that was when you asked me to teach you how to kiss!”

Matthew’s face went bright red, “O-oh, n-no I didn’t... well I did but I... a-are you sure it was then? I-I mean it didn’t happen at all!” Ivan began to giggle wildly.

“Your brother makes the same face you do when you are embarrassed, _lapushka_!”

"I don't make that face!" Alfred denied, pouting. Arthur snorted, drawing Alfred's pout from Ivan to the Englishman.

Matthew sighed; glad the attention was off of him. Then Francis kept speaking.

“Of course as in everything I taught Matthew, he was quick to excel at it though I’m unsure how much practice he did when I deemed his technique perfected... perhaps I should ask Gilbert if he is still as good...”

“ _PAPA_!” Matthew whined, burying his face in his hands, “D-don’t talk to Gilbert about that!”

"Dude that would've been awesome if someone had taught me how to kiss when I was younger," Alfred whined. "I had to wing it my first time."

Matthew shivered; “Y-you never had to learn from him!” he pointed at Francis and looked uncharacteristically angry, “He is a slave driver when it comes to teaching about _l’amour_!” Matthew huffed and grimaced, “I had to do drills and sometimes my lips would be sore for hours afterwards and... and that was just when we used pillows!”

Alfred stared before bursting out into loud laughter. "Pillows?! AHAHAHAHAHA!!"

"Alfred stop laughing," Arthur scolded though his chuckling. The American only laughed even more.

Francis tutted as Matthew groaned. “Now now, Mathieu was a fast learner as I said! He graduated from pillows early on and moved onto special hollowed out apples and things I made for him! And I made him tie many cherry stems with his tongue~”

Matthew shook his head slowly, “Stop... please stop...”

Ivan hummed, “And what about his final exam? Surely one cannot graduate from ‘kissing school’ without a final exam, da?”

Francis chuckled, “Ah _oui_ , and in that final exam he performed exceptionally...” The Frenchman let out a blissful sigh and Matthew abruptly stood up, picked up a glass of water, and dropped it on the floor so it shattered.

“Oh, clumsy me, eh?” Matthew laughed a little wildly, “I’m going to get a broom to clean this up!”

"Alright, alright. Let's not talk about Mattie's kissing skills anymore," Alfred said, his smile fading. "Hey bro, you okay?"

"Yes, I say we make fun of Alfred now," Arthur said in amusement.

"Hey! Why me?" Alfred protested.

Ivan clapped, “ _Da_! I wish to hear cute embarrassing stories about Alfred!”

"No! Please?" Alfred pouted. Arthur only smirked.

"There as this one time," Arthur began, much to Alfred's whining. "We were wandering around for a place to eat. Alfred was still so young. We passed this woman who was pregnant. Alfred became interested and immediately chased after the woman, asking why her belly was so big. The woman had told her that her baby was inside, and Alfred began crying. When we asked him why he was crying, his only reply was 'that mean lady ate her baby!' ”

Ivan snorted and then began to laugh so hard he ended up holding his sides. Matthew had stopped on his way to the door to listen and began to snort in laughter as well. Francis smirked, raising an eyebrow at Arthur.

“You mean Alfred never bothered to ask you where babies come from before then? That was one of Mathieu’s first questions that he asked me. Though... he did say that Alfred never gave him an answer that he believed...”

"Well he gave me some stupid story about babies coming from cabbages and magical mulberry bushes!" Alfred cut in before Arthur could reply, his face red with embarrassment.

"I didn't want to ruin his innocence just yet," Arthur explained. "But after that I had to explain it. Nevertheless, he still believed, up until he was Peter's age, that pregnant women were women who ate their babies."

“Aw, Alfred is making a cute face,” Ivan said happily and stretched out his arms, “Come here _, lapushka_!” Alfred pouted and scooted closer to Ivan, letting the Russian wrap his arms around him.

Francis shook his head and put an arm around Arthur, “I realise you do not want to ruin the innocence of children, but you could have at least given Alfred the story about the man making a seed, giving it to the mother and the mother swallowing the seed so it grows inside her into a child, that’s what I told Mathieu at that early age.”

Matthew smiled a little, “Well, that was more or less how it works... anyway I never thought women swallowed their babies... well not like how Alfred thought,” Matthew giggled.

"It's the story my brother Edward told me! Until William thought it'd be funny to actually explain sex and childbirth to me," Arthur replied defensively.

Francis smirked slightly, “So did you also think pregnant women swallowed their babies until William told you otherwise?”

"I actually never questioned why pregnant woman were round,," Arthur replied. "I was, still am actually, a firm believer in magic, so I never questioned my brothers when it came to magical things."

Ivan perked up. “Oh? What sort of magic?”

"All sorts," Arthur replied. "I usually tried to dabble in the black magic found in Briton, but there were Scottish, Welsh, and Irish spell books and potion recipes always floating around."

"Don't tell me you believe in magic, _Podsolnechnik_!" Alfred groaned, looking up at Ivan. "It's weird enough when Arthur stops to talk to a unicorn or fairy."

"Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they're not real!" Arthur snapped.

Francis’ eyebrow rose and he smirked, “My _lapin_ likes to speak with unicorns?”

Ivan hummed, “Well, fairies and unicorns... _nyet_ that seems farfetched. But some magic is real, I have often used magic to curse my enemies... kolkolkol...” Ivan’s smile turned very dark and a heavy aura seemed to pulse around him, making Francis, Matthew and Arthur squeak and cower back from him slightly. Alfred scowled and sat on Ivan's lap, reaching up and forcing the Russian to look at him.

"You're being a creeper again," Alfred informed. He reached up and briefly kissed Ivan. "No more scaring my family." Arthur watched, wide eyed, as Alfred spoke to Ivan, unaffected by the aura around him. Yet somehow, Alfred made the dark aura dim quite a lot by a single kiss. Still, Arthur wondered exactly how healthy this relationship was.

Ivan sighed, his aura dimmed but now looking a little irritated, “Alfred is cute, but he should not be telling me what to do, _da_? You already made me agree not to harm your family, would you take all of my fun away?” Suddenly Ivan’s smile was back, “Their scared-faces are very amusing!”

"Hmm, maybe," Alfred sighed. "But it was Arthur's turn to get made fun of!"

Ivan smiled, “And you made fun of him, da? Oh, does that mean it is Francis’ turn now?”

Francis looked panicked, “N- _non_ I don’t think that’s necessary...”

Ivan grinned, “Like that time he got drunk and propositioned a street lamp?”

Matthew hummed, “Or that dog...”

Ivan clapped, “Oh, I did not know that one, but then he tried to proposition Natalya that time, and she broke both his arms!”

Francis sighed, “Well, I do not deny those things...”

Matthew cocked his head to one side in thought, “Well... what about when you left your cabin without clothes on in the middle of a battle, and then screamed when you almost got your penis cut off?”

Francis shrugged, “Ah, well, when you sleep naked problems like that can arise...”

Ivan frowned a little, “Um... well what about the time you thought orchid was a food...”

Francis flushed, “W-well I’d never heard of those flowers before then!”

Matthew blinked, “I don’t remember that!”

Francis shrugged, “I have known Ivan longer than you, but I think that was when you were very young...”

Ivan pouted, “ _Da_ , that’s something I need to ask, how did you keep the fact you had a... son figure a secret for so long?”

Francis and Matthew looked at each other and shrugged.

Arthur and Alfred laughed. "You ran out into a battle naked?" Alfred snickered. "That's so weird!"

"To a dog? Really, Francis?" Arthur laughed.

Francis huffed, “Well, those sailors on my ship were distracted by my gorgeous form, so that may have turned the battle in my favour! To the dog... I-I was very drunk...”

“Very drunk,” Matthew confirmed with a nod.

Arthur only laughed and Alfred smiled, both shaking their heads.

Ivan stretched, finally, “Well, I think little Alfred and I should be going back to our ship now. Toris should be done with dinner, _da_?”

"Alright then," Alfred sighed. He stood up and hugged Arthur and Matthew. "See you guys later."

"Goodbye," Arthur said softly.

“Oh!” Ivan said suddenly, “I forgot to mention! You are all three invited to dinner!” The Russian grinned at Francis, Matthew and Arthur. “Just for tonight, Francis has not been in such a long time!”

Francis smirked ever so slightly, “Well... I have been lacking in a decent cook since I gave Yao to you...”

Ivan’s eyes widened, “Oh, _da_ I had forgotten... so you will come?”

Francis shrugged, “I have no problem with it, as long you _ahem_ , keep your hands to yourself and your own crew...”

Ivan pouted, “You make me sound like a pervert!”

Francis chuckled, “Well it takes one to know one, _non_?” To this, Ivan giggled as well, hiding his grin behind his hand childishly.

Arthur drew his lips into a thin line. Did all Englishmen really attract perverts? No wonder many never left the isles. Ah, but what did it matter really. He was going to spend more time with his son. This thought brought forth a grateful smile, replacing his expression from before.

"Hey, you never told me they were coming over!" Alfred said excitedly, flashing Ivan a wide happy grin. " _Spasibo, podsolnechnik_!"

“Hmm, I must’ve forgotten to mention it!” Ivan smiled back at Alfred and pulled him in to kiss his lips... perhaps a touch harder than necessary, though he was obviously fighting to restrain himself at least a bit. “So, let us go, _da_?”

The group rose and left Francis’ cabin, heading across the deck toward Ivan’s ship, which had been running closely beside the French one for a while. When Ivan signalled them, the Russian ship drew closer still to the point where the gap could be bridged by the plank, allowing them to cross over in means other than jumping.

“After you, _lapushka_ ,” Ivan said, gesturing for Alfred to go ahead of him.

Alfred smiled and jumped onto the railing. "Think I'll make it?"

"You will not jump that bloody gap!" Arthur snapped, more worried than angered. "Just use the plank!"

"Aww! But that's no fun!"

Ivan frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Alfred, get off the railing, now.”

"Fine," Alfred sighed, jumping down. "Kill my love of adventure!"

"Adventure or suicide?" Arthur mumbled grumpily. Alfred actually looked thoughtful. Regardless, Alfred called, in English of course, for something, anything, be tossed over to help them cross. When his only answer was blank stares, Alfred turned to Ivan.

"Yeah. Translation?" the American asked, looking slightly irritated.

“This is why I am teaching you Russian, _da_?” Ivan said before calling in his native tongue. Within moments a plank reached between the ships and the group made their way across. Ivan turned to Alfred once safely on board his own ship. “Remember, you only got out of your foot wrappings this morning, _da_? Your feet might not have carried you as far over the gap as you think they would.”

"Don't worry! I can handle this!" Alfred said, a hint of arrogance in his voice. Arthur masked his worry, sending Alfred an irritated look. The American only smiled and took a couple steps forward.

"He's already favoring his leg," Arthur mumbled. Indeed, although the action was slight, Alfred didn't keep his weight on his newly healed foot for long.

Ivan cocked his head to one side, hummed, then grinned, “Oh, well, if you are sure Alfred... why not prove it and jump across the gap right now? We have not yet pulled away. Go ahead and prove it. Jump there and then jump back.”

Matthew gasped, “N-no, don’t do that, Alfred! You don’t have to prove it!”

Ivan giggled, “Oh, I think he does. Don’t you, _lapushka_?”

Francis looked a little frightened as well, “Er, I-I’m not sure if that-“

“He will be fine, he can handle this! He said so, _da_?” Ivan’s eyes bored into Alfred’s.

Alfred glanced back, blue eyes meeting violet colored ones. He said nothing, turning back slightly and surveying the gap. He glanced down at his leg, stomping it lightly and wincing. He looked back at the gap, and then scanned the faces of his loved ones. Arthur looked back with the same questioning look  
Alfred was giving him. Pride was really all the American had to lose, a pride that was still large despite living with Ivan. Alfred swallowed and shook his head.

"I...I can't do it."

Ivan snorted, “Oh but you were so sure a moment earlier!” Ivan’s smile hardened. “Jump the gap,” he ordered now, firmly. Matthew looked horrified.

“N-no! He’ll get hurt!”

“He will get hurt if he does not jump the gap, _da_?”

“Y-you can’t do that, eh!”

“ _Oui_ , Ivan, please reconsider...” Francis said quietly, “Not in front of his brother and Arthur...”

Ivan shook his head, “He must learn. Jump the gap.”

"Take a running leap," Arthur sighed, instructing the American. Alfred stared wide eyed, but Arthur only shook his head. "I didn't raise you to be an idiot, you chose to be that way," Arthur said sharply. "But you’re my son either way, and I might as well be of some use." Alfred nodded slowly, still unsure. "Now, you're going to take a run at the railing," Arthur instructed. "Gain enough momentum and use your bad leg to jump onto the railing. As soon as your foot touches it, kick off with all your strength. It'll give you momentum to make the jump. Keep your body straight and arms out. With luck, the momentum will help you reach the ledge. You know what to do from there, hoist yourself up. Then repeat it to get back here."

"So on a scale of one to ten, how much pain will I be in?" Alfred asked sarcastically. Arthur laughed sharply.

"A lot."

"Well I really don't have a choice, do I?" Alfred sighed.

Ivan shook his head. “ _Nyet_ , you do not. You will either learn how to jump even when in pain, or you will learn not to boast arrogantly when you have no business doing so. Both are good lessons. Learn at least one, _da_?” Matthew looked on fearfully, though Francis seemed a little curious now that Arthur had given in to the situation.

"I actually agree with him," Arthur said, jabbing his thumb in Ivan's directions. Alfred sighed.

"Here I go," Alfred muttered, walking a ways. He turned, focusing on the ledge. He breathed deeply, and then took off in a fast sprint. A look of pain flashed across Alfred's face, but the American chose to ignore it. He leapt onto the railing, his good foot taking most of the weight to build up the momentum. He pushed off, arms shakily spreading out. Arthur watched in speculating interest, mentally commenting and correcting Alfred's movements as the American was, momentarily, airborne. His poster wasn't straight enough, his bad leg was curling inward, as if Alfred was trying to cradle it, and his arms weren't reaching out far enough. Surprisingly, Alfred did touch the railing, grasping it momentarily before the force of his body yanked his fingers away from the wood. Alfred fell into the sea.

"Alfred!" Arthur yelled, rushing to the railing and searching for his son. Alfred broke the surface, his golden hair plastered to his face, even his cowlick. Arthur sighed in relief.

A moment later Arthur heard some orders barked in Russian and then a large mass plunged off the edge of the ship. Arthur turned briefly to look behind him and saw a pair of boots and a large beige coat lying on the deck. Looking back in the water Arthur could see Ivan swimming toward Alfred who was struggling as he was weighted down with his own shoes and clothes. Grabbing hold of the America, Ivan grabbed hold of the rope that his crewmembers had thrown down to him and with great effort the two were dragged up and on board the ship again. Alfred was shivering in the evening air, though Ivan seemed unaffected.

“Alfred will not boast when he cannot do something, ever again, _da_? It only leads to trouble,” Ivan chided before calling for a blanket to be brought.

"Y-Yeah," Alfred shivered, nodding. "D-Don't b-brag-g-g-g, wh-when I c-c-can't d-do it. G-G-Got it."

"So Alfred, was the water cold?" Arthur asked an amusement, smiling. Alfred only pouted at him.

Ivan set to work wrapping a large blanket around Alfred’s shoulders, perhaps a little tighter than he should have, and then lifted the boy easily into his arms. “Well, let us go to dinner! Hot food will warm you faster, da?”

Matthew looked at Ivan with a gleam of extreme mistrust in his eyes as they headed toward the door leading below deck. As they went, however, there was a loud yell from the Prussian ship still sailing on the Russian’s other side.

“HEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH MATTIE AND FRANCIS?” Gilbert screamed, waving an angry fist.

Ivan looked over and smiled, “Gilbunny! We are going to have dinner, would you like to come?”

Gilbert’s eyes widened and then he glared, “I don’t wanna have dinner with you!”

Ivan put on his innocent face, “But you would be having dinner with all of us, you don’t want Matthew to be the fifth wheel, da?”

Gilbert hesitated, and then snorted in irritation. “Fine! I’m coming, Birdie!” Gilbert backed up and then took a running leap, easily crossing the gap between ships as Alfred had failed to do earlier. He ran to the group and locked an arm firmly around Matthew’s waist, giving Ivan a hard look. Matthew flushed bright red.

Alfred glanced at Matthew; the look in his eyes was unreadable. After a while, he lightly commented, "You guys kinda look cute together."

Matthew seemed to go even redder. Gilbert’s eyes on the other hand flashed to Alfred in Ivan’s arms and the albino snorted, “Well obviously we’re awesomely cute together! I’m too awesomely cute to date anyone who isn’t awesomely cute, so obviously together we HAVE to be awesomely cute because it wouldn’t make sense not to be! Kesesesese!”

Ivan giggled a little at Gilbert’s speech. To this, Gilbert glared again. “Wish I could say you two were awesomely cute, but that Russian asshole is too fucking creepy and evil and unawesome, so he drags down anything else cute that he touches.”

"Hmm, well Ivan has to be seen through a certain type of view to be seen as cute," Alfred said calmly. "A view you don't have. And if you're dating my brother because you two looked 'cute' then I'll kick your ass. Treat him good." With that said, Alfred buried his face in Ivan's scarf, effectively mumbling the Russian words he spoke for solely Ivan. " _Vy milo_ (You are cute.)"

Ivan smiled down at Alfred, “ _No vy yeshche milo_.” (But you are more cute) “Now, let us go and eat, _da_?”

As they headed inside, Matthew looked up at Gilbert uncertainly. “Um... you aren’t only with me because I... because I look cute... are you?”

Gilbert looked down at Matthew and smirked, “Of course not! I’m also with you because you’re awesome! Almost as awesome as me! And that’s pretty fucking awesome!”

“O-oh,” Matthew stammered, looking unsure of whether this answered his question or not. Francis looked concerned and walked behind the group with Arthur, whispering to him.

“I feel like both of them are dating animals...” Francis hissed softly enough that other Arthur could hear, looking between both Gilbert and Ivan who were grinning feral smiles at the blondes each had their arms around.

"It does seem that way," Arthur whispered back. He looked at the boys, surveying their reactions. Matthew was confused, but happy as he chatted with Gilbert. Alfred looked excited, jabbering off about something in a low voice that brought a small smile to Ivan's face. Arthur sighed. "At least they're happy," Arthur murmured.

Eventually they did reach a room with a table prepared, surrounded by chairs. Across the table was a lavish spread of meats and fresh vegetables, apparently Ivan had been at port recently. A shaking, brown haired man stood nearby, watching as Ivan slid Alfred, still tucked into the blanket, into a seat next to the head of the table. The others slowly took seats around the table’s edge and Ivan went to ruffle the shaking man’s hair, ignoring the flinch.

“Good job, Toris, you may go,” Ivan said and the brown haired man dashed from the room as if it were on fire.

Arthur watched him go, fumbling for the name to the familiar face. "It was Toris," Alfred reminded his father-figure, who was sitting next to him.

"Oh, right," Arthur blinked. He looked back to the food, surveying the spread, and then turned to watch Alfred struggle to free his hands.

"I think I'm stuck," Alfred pouted. Arthur chuckled.

Ivan hummed and sat at his place, reaching out to pinch Alfred’s cheek lightly, “Then I will feed you, _da_?”

Gilbert shuddered, folding his arms. “Damn it, I never wanted to be on this ship again.”

Matthew frowned and touched Gilbert’s arm softly, “It won’t be for long.”

Alfred scowled at Gilbert then looked at Ivan. "Can I please feed myself?"

Ivan seemed to think for a moment. “Maybe... if you give me a kiss, first!”

Gilbert’s head fell on the table, narrowly missing his plate. “I think I’m going to throw up!”

Francis rolled his eyes. “And people say I am dramatic, _non_?”

"Is there a problem?" Alfred snapped, glaring at Gilbert.

Gilbert’s head rose slowly at first, then jolted up as he slammed a hand down on the table. “ _Ja_ , there IS!” he pointed an accusing finger at Ivan. “This whole fucking situation is like fucking _deja vu_! Expect I was actually restrained with chains, there weren’t other people around, and I wasn’t fucking making goo goo eyes at my kidnapper!”

Ivan hummed, “But you let me feed you!”

Gilbert glared, “Cause there was no way in hell I was going to kiss you!”

Ivan shrugged, “You gave in eventually.”

“You TORTURED me for WEEKS, and I only... just a little...” Gilbert flushed, “Fuck off! I’m just glad I escaped, AWESOMELY I might add!”

Ivan grinned, “But we had some wonderful memories!”

Gilbert clenched his fists, going red with rage. “Shut UP you fucking Russian... you... FUCK YOU!”

"Don't you dare speak to him that way!" Alfred growled. "Just because you were incapable of loving him the way I do! Unlike you, I wanted to know more about why he did what he did, why he was this way. I looked for more than the monster I first saw him as, I looked for the human in him. Yeah, I know Ivan's done terrible things, some of which he inflicted on me as well for the first couple of days. Call me weak if you want, because I let myself fall in love with him. I don't care; I don't care what any of you have to say! The past never matters once it's happened, what matters is the present, here and now. You have Matthew, Ivan has me. Bury what used to be and move on. No one asked for your goddamn idiotic comments."

Matthew shivered and then stood abruptly as Gilbert’s opened his mouth. The Prussian’s mouth clamped shut as Matthew glared openly at his brother.

“Don’t you dare yell at Gilbert that way!” Matthew yelled... well, spoke louder than usual, which was enough to grab attention for himself as he mocked his brother’s opening to his rant. “You might have fallen into... into Stockholm syndrome, but Gilbert actually has very bad memories of this place and of Ivan! Maybe I’m wrong, maybe Ivan hasn’t been as bad to you as he was to Gilbert but Ivan HAS hurt people and maybe you can forgive and forget about it all, but that... that MONSTER has brought harm and pain to everyone else he’s touched! He tortured you! You admitted it!”

Ivan stood now, glaring sharply at Matthew, his innocent persona gone. “You know nothing! I did nothing that cruel, Gilbert is fine, see? And Alfred-”

Gilbert suddenly stood as well, “I AM NOT FINE! Just seeing you makes me physically ill! I... I still have fucking scars!”

Ivan’s grin was menacing, “How would you learn without reminders?”

Francis leaned back in his chair, inching closer to Arthur with a look of slightly fear on his face. “I-I’ve never seen Mathieu so angry before...”

"Yeah, maybe he has done bad things," Alfred snapped. His voice much calmer directed toward his brother, but his eyes had darkened in anger. "Yeah, maybe Ivan is a monster. Yeah, maybe I do have Stockholm syndrome. But you know what Matthew? I'm still going to protect Ivan from whatever you say, just like you're going to protect Gilbert from whatever I say. I don't care what he's done, and maybe you do if it concerns Gilbert, but I don't."

Arthur inched even closer to Francis, eye flickering worriedly between the two brothers. "Why do I have the feeling something bad will happen?"

Matthew’s face flooded with colour, though for once in anger and not embarrassment. “I suppose,” he began, quietly, but with a growling undertone, “I suppose it makes sense you would feel akin to a monster like him, since you’re one yourself.”

Francis, apparently, could no longer take this. “That’s enough, Mathieu!”

Matthew shook his head and grabbed Gilbert’s arm. “Let’s get out of here, before that... beast decides to bite, eh.”

Gilbert looked down at Matthew in surprise, but his mouth twisted into a hard line and he nodded. “Sure, sounds like the best thing to do.”

Alfred bowed his head, his shoulders trembling as the two left the room. Arthur got up and pulled Alfred into his arms, holding him close. The American pressed his face into Arthur's chest, his shoulders shaking now as he freely sobbed.

"Alfred he...he didn't mean it," Arthur said softly, not sure himself. Alfred said nothing, continuing to weep.

Ivan sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Arthur comfort Alfred in silence. Francis sighed and rested his chin in his hands.

“I fear Gilbert is a bad influence on _mon petit chou_.”

"You might be right," Arthur said gently. "However, no matter how we go about to solve this, someone is going to be hurt." The Englishman ran is fingers through Alfred's damp hair, sighing sadly. Alfred said something, his muffled voice making it sound slightly comical. Arthur, apparently having understood, replied in Welsh. " _Oherwydd Bywyd Nid oes rheswm i fod yn deg._ ” Alfred sniffed, and looked up at him.

"Huh?"

"I said because it just is, lad," Arthur said. "There never is something that can be gained without a darkness following it." Alfred buried his face in Arthur's shirt again.

 “No wonder Alfred always cried for his daddy when I tortured him,” Ivan muttered and shook his head. Then he spoke louder, “So, we may eat now, _da_?”

“ _Oui_ , that... would likely be best. Arthur, if you would help Alfred free his hands... i-if that’s alright?” Francis shot Ivan a worried look, but the Russian gave an irritated nod and the Frenchman relaxed, slightly.

Arthur tugged Alfred free, and readjusted it so it was over his shoulders. "Let's eat then," Arthur said.

Dinner was a tense affair for a while, despite Matthew and Gilbert having left. However, after some time had passed Francis sighed and wiped at his lips with a napkin.

“I am impressed, you were right to steal Toris back to you, he is a very fine cook, _non_?”

Ivan brightened, “ _Da_ , very good in bed too. You can borrow him if you’d like!” There was a short silence, “Ah... since I don’t need him for that... well I don’t right now, I’m happy with little Alfred for the time being!”

Francis coughed and shot Arthur a sideways glance. “I also do not need him for... that purpose.”

Ivan hummed, “But you still need a cook, _da_?”

“Er, _oui_ , a decent one would be nice...” Francis said carefully, himself unsure where this was going.

Ivan clapped. “Well, I currently have one cook too many! There’s a Korean boy who I’ve been told is Yao-Yao’s brother. I don’t need him for anything, so I can give him to you!”

Francis’ eyes widened, “Th-that’s very generous, but I’m capable of finding another cook if I need to, really.”

"Why would you need to send Yao's brother away?" Arthur asked, keeping his eyes on his plate. Alfred glanced at his father-figure, noting the almost defensive stance. It seemed the small conversation had offended the Englishman. Alfred shuffled uncomfortably, the image of the sobbing Yao. He looked away.

Ivan frowned and then sighed, slightly, “Well, normally I would not but... I am a little concerned. Yao-Yao’s other brother, the Korean’s twin... he is my boat swain. He is very good at his job, and Yao-Yao is good at his job, but the Korean I was using as a cook, Yong-Soo... well I had given him to his brother to be strictly under his charge, but Yao has confessed that this makes him... distressed? He feels Jin-Ho is abusing his twin,” Ivan shook his head, “This is causing tension among all three of them, which has led to fighting on some occasions, but I don’t want to lose Jin-Ho or Yao. I am wondering if removing Yong-Soo from my ship altogether will help things.”

Francis looked surprised. “Ah! Well, I don’t think that’s the best plan... I mean Yao might be pacified if Yong-Soo was on my ship, but Jin-Ho would not be pleased with it, he might turn against you for suggesting it.”

Ivan shrugged. “I thought I could give him someone else as a replacement, he could even have his pick of my slaves, aside from Alfred, since I’m not using any of them for sex right now.”

"It might not make things better with this Jin-Ho bloke, but if it makes Yao feel better, then perhaps it is a swell idea if we take Yong-Soo," Arthur suggested.

Francis nibbled on his lip for a moment, and then nodded. “ _Oui_ , I suppose there is that... well if you’re sure, _mon ami_ , I will gladly take on this... Yong-Soo as my cook.”

“Excellent!” The Russian clapped once again, “I will send him to your ship first thing tomorrow so he can make your breakfast, you should not be too disappointed, I found him a satisfactory cook, though not as good as Toris.”

Arthur nodded, and then turned to Alfred. The American seemed to be staring off into space, his eyes distant. Arthur clapped his hand down firmly on Alfred's shoulder, making him jump. Alfred blinked twice then looked at Arthur, eyes focusing back.

"Y-You're leaving?" Alfred asked in surprise, clearly confused after being jolted from his thoughts.

"No, but I think perhaps soon?" Arthur said, turning to Francis for confirmation.

To this the Frenchman nodded. “ _Oui_ , I think it is best that we take our leave... that is if we’ve eaten our fill, which I have, though it would be rude to leave while others are eating.

“Alfred usually eats more than this...” Ivan gave Alfred a curious look, “But I think he is done. You are free to go, _da_? I’m sure you know the way back to your ship...”

“Er, yes,” Francis nodded, standing and motioning for Arthur to do the same.

Alfred quickly gripped Arthur's hand as the Englishman stood up. Arthur looked down at Alfred, who seemed to beg him not to leave. Slowly, Alfred retracted his hand, placing it on his lap.

"Al, we'll be nearby," Arthur soothed. "Matthew didn't mean it." Alfred nodded, scooting closer to Ivan now. Arthur sighed and nodded to Francis. "Let's go, frog."

Francis wrapped his arm around Arthur’s waist and led him from the room as Ivan pulled Alfred from his chair and into the Russian’s lap to hold him as he shook some more. The journey back to the French ship was brief, halted only long enough to use some impromptu body language to explain that they needed a plank to close the gap between ships. At last the two were back in their own cabin, and Francis was already naked and giving Arthur a ‘come hither’ sort of look. Arthur, however, was being quiet and the Frenchman finally sighed.

“Arthur, you should be happy you know,” Francis said seriously, “You have found Alfred to be... perhaps not in the very best of circumstances, but better cared for than you had worried about, _non_?”

"Yes, but I worry still," Arthur sighed, "Especially after what Matthew told Alfred. I keep feeling like there's something more I should have said, something I should have done." The English man leaned against the wall, a worried look still on his face.

Francis sighed again, though more wistfully, and turned onto his back. “I doubt very much anything said in that room would have fixed things. Mathieu is... angry, very angry. I believe he feels abandoned by his brother emotionally. He feels as if Alfred has betrayed him horribly, not only with his parents, but also because he has grown close to, and is defending, a man who hurt Mathieu’s lover, and nearly hurt Mathieu himself. He is defending the man who stole Mathieu’s brother away and... I think...” Francis shook his head, “I think Mathieu is angry he spent so much time upset and worrying over his brother when Alfred appears to have been perfectly fine, now. However, knowing _mon petit chou_ , he will later feel guilty on his own and will seek Alfred out to apologize. It will only be a matter of time.”

Francis suddenly looked a little startled, “Oh... perhaps I should have said that to Alfred, _non_? Hon hon... oh, well, too late now, perhaps tomorrow,” Francis grinned at Arthur, “Now come to bed, _lapin_ , I can help you forget your worries...”

"Oh we are not doing that frog," Arthur said, his worry slipping into light irritation. "We are sleeping, even if I bloody well have to kick you."

Francis pouted, “But _lapin_ , sex will help you sleep better! It will help relax you in all the right ways... hon hon hon...”

"Oh I'm sure, frog," Arthur snorted. The Englishman sighed, deciding he might as well change. "Francis," Arthur said quietly, his fingers stopping halfway in taking off his shirt. "Do you think Peter's okay?"

Francis frowned slightly. “I... do believe that Lovino and Feliciano will do their upmost to keep Peter safe. Lovino, though he is a coward by nature if he is facing danger will swallow his cowardice when protecting those under his charge and is actually rather good with a sword and with daggers. Both Lovino and Feliciano are very fast runners as well and should be about to carry both Peter and Marcello while running,” Francis looked at Arthur, “I would say Peter is in as much danger with the Italian twins as he is at sea with us, all things considered.”

Arthur nodded and finished pulling off his shirt. He looked up at Francis and walked over to him. His eyes were clouded with emotions as the Englishman hugged Francis. "You still want sex, frog?" Arthur asked, his tone heavily hinting that he expected a 'yes.'

Instead of answering, Francis pulled Arthur’s head toward his and connected their lips, moving them gracefully together before slipping his tongue between them, plundering Arthur’s mouth...

Abruptly, Francis pulled away, “Oh, this reminds me, we need to plunder another merchant ship soon, we’ll need funds for the next port.”

"You remember that now, just by kissing me," Arthur scowled. "That's bloody perverted, you wanker."

“I know,” Francis grinned, “But you knew I was perverted when you pledged your love to me, _non_?” This said, Francis yanked Arthur back toward himself, filling his mouth once again with his wet, slippery tongue.

Arthur let out a small noise of surprised, but melted into the kiss. His own tongue darted out, timidly at first, dancing and swirling with Francis's when the other pink muscle urged his. Arthur slipped his arms around Francis's neck, moving closer and pressing their chests together.

Francis’ hands slid down Arthur’s back to rest on his ass, squeezing gently. He moved their lips apart again, “You are wearing too many layers down here _mon amour_.”

"What are you talking about? I only put on my pants this morning!" Arthur huffed, burying his face in Francis's neck. He nipped gently at the skin there, occasionally flicking out his tongue and running it up and down Francis neck.

“ _Oui_ , and you are still wearing them now,” Francis chuckled, “One layer too many~”

"Bloody frog," Arthur laughed. He pulled away briefly to look up at Francis face-to-face. He smirked. "Well take them off then."

“ _Il me fera plaisir,_ ” Francis grinned and slid his fingers into the waist of Arthur’s pants. With some effort spent the pants were soon pulled down and discarded to the floor, and Francis soon flipped their positions so Arthur was pinned to the bed, Francis hovering over him with a lecherous smirk. “Anything in specific you’d like done tonight, _lapin_?”

"Nothing in particular," Arthur hummed. He pulled Francis down and connected their lips again.

Francis sighed into the kiss, then drew away a little, pouting, “You know, you never seem to have anything in mind when we do these things together. You’re very... vanilla, when it comes to sex, _cheri_. Surely you have fantasies you’d like fulfilled?” As Francis spoke his finger traced its way lazily down Arthur’s side, making the Englishman shiver.

"N-Not really," Arthur said quickly, his face flushing a dark red.

Francis hummed, “I think you might just be lying to me... Arthur...” Francis breathed Arthur’s name in a very low, sultry manner. “Perhaps you have a very dirty little fantasy you’re afraid to share... perhaps you are a fan of punishments? Would you like to have a riding crop taken to your rear and-“ Francis’ eyes widened. “ _MON DIEU!_ Gilbert has a fetish for riding crops... he had better not use one on _mon petit chou!_ ”

"Really Francis, from me to Matthew," Arthur muttered, irritated. At least the conversation had been drawn away from his fantasy. The one where Arthur rode Francis while the chained Frenchman wore a...Arthur flushed a deeper red. Stupid imagination.

Francis coughed, “Er. _Oui_ , I apologize. I should not be focusing on others right now...” Franics dipped his head and kissed Arthur’s neck, lightly. “Come now _mon petit_ , surely you are not so dull? You know I am VERY open to anything sexual... oh, perhaps you want to try a scenario where you have more dominance?”

"You're a wanker," Arthur mumbled in embarrassing. "B-But maybe."

Francis brightened at this. “Hon hon hon... perhaps you would prefer to be the one _holding_ the riding crop, _cheri_?” Francis leaned close to Arthur’s ear, “Perhaps you’d enjoy seeing me in chains, helpless and subject entirely to your every sick whim?” Arthur blushed even more, eyes wide. He tried saying something, but it only came out as flustered stutters. Francis chuckled softly, “I do have chains available, you know, if you would enjoy that sort of thing.” Arthur looked away, his face lit up with embarrassment. However, ever slowly, Arthur nodded his head.

Francis’ eyes widened slightly, but then he smirked and rolled off of Arthur and the bed, heading to his wardrobe. He opened the doors and pulled aside his hanging garments... revealing behind them a selection of whips, riding crops, dildos, hand cuffs and chains. “This is my ‘special fun’ selection! Though I only reveal it to my... to those I think would enjoy it most,” Francis gave Arthur a teasing wink, “You may have your choice of things to use!”

Arthur sat up, peering into the wardrobe from where he was. "The chains...and the crop there," Arthur said, pointing to the said items he wanted.

Francis grinned and pulled out the proper items, giving the crop a swish himself before handing it handle-first to Arthur, placing the chains on the bed beside him. “Would you like me to lie down for you, _lapin_?”

"Y-Yes please," Arthur muttered, his face red once again. Oh if only they had those animal ears....or if only Arthur had a spell book. The Englishman shook his head and waited for Francis as the Frenchman laid on the bed. Once he was sure Francis was comfortable enough, he took the chains and looped them around an outcropping on the bedpost, probably built there for this purpose Arthur guessed, and then secured the shackles around Francis's wrists.

Francis laid back, clearly at ease with the situation as he held out his wrists to his lover. When the shackles were tugged above his head, the Frenchman smirked at Arthur. “So will you be blushing the entire time, or will you be surprising me with a secret dominatrix persona, _lapin_?”

"Maybe a mix of both," Arthur said haughtily, pressing the tip of the crop against Francis's lips to shush him. "I'm not used to any of this, and it's embarrassing just as it's a little ridiculous to me, but I used to whip insubordinate crew members while I was serving my time in the Naval. So sit back and let me show you a bit of why I was considered the best of the British navy."

“Ooh, then please, punish me captain I have been very... naughty... HON HON HON!” Francis laughed and arched on the bed, waving his crotch in the air in a way that... really looked more silly than anything else.

"Perverted frog," Arthur chuckled. He smacked Francis's side with the crop. Not entirely hard, but none too gently either, just enough for it to sting. He leaned low and whispered in the Frenchman's ear, "Do you know how we used to treat frogs?" He struck Francis on his leg this time, on his calf to be exact, putting a bit more force into that strike.

“Oh!” Francis gasped as his leg automatically jerked away from the strike, “H-how did you treat frogs, _lapin_?” The Frenchman’s voice shook, though likely far more in arousal and anticipation than in any kind of fear.

Arthur chuckled. His only response was another smack in the leg, this time against the side of Francis's thigh. The Englishman trailed his hand across Francis's chest, the beginnings of the dominance high getting to him. "Francis," Arthur whispered silkily. "You're an awful frog, you know that, right?"

Francis feigned a look of innocence. “ _Épouvantable? Moi? Je ne sais pas ce que vous parlez.”_

Arthur smacked the crop against Francis's thigh harder, smirking when Francis gasped. "Now, now, frog. You will speak only the Queen's English," Arthur chastised. "Anything else will mean a punishment for you."

Francis licked his lips, but held his French tongue for the moment. “In that case... captain...” Francis’ eyebrow rose in challenge, “What do you intend to do to me this evening?”

"Something cruel probably," Arthur hummed. "I honestly never thought this would actually happen, but I'll just have to improvise, won't I?" He brought the whip down again; this time against Francis's other thigh. His fingers tweaked Francis’s nipples, flicking and playing with one hardened bud, then another.

Francis gasped and moaned appropriately as he was toyed with, arching away from the mattress. “Nrg, A-Arthur!” Francis moaned out, “Oh, don’t tease...”

"Oh, but I don't think you're in charge now, frog," Arthur laughed. He lowered his head and bit at Francis's neck, sucking the skin to leave it more sensitive. The crop struck down on Francis's stomach, leaving a faint red mark.

Francis groaned when the crop hit his stomach. “Th-that one wasn’t so pleasurable _l-lapin_...”

"Oops, s-sorry," Arthur squeaked, blinking as all traces of his act gone. He leaned down and kissed the mark.

“I-it’s fine,” Francis sighed, “I... have a very sensitive stomach. Good for touching,” he smirked, “Not for striking. Do continue. _À moins que le capitaine est fini avec son jeu?”_

The crop lashed out once more, against Francis's leg though. "Of course it's not over," Arthur huffed. "We haven't even had sex yet, you frog. And what did I say about speaking you're froggie language?"

Francis chuckled, smirking, “Oh then by all means captain... punish me,” his voice was deep and seductive on his last words.

Arthur flushed, but smirked back. "Frog face, you really are the worst pervert of them all." The Englishman trailed the crop down Francis's chest, lightly tapping it against his abdomen as he took one of the pert buds into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

“Ah, ah...” Francis panted, his hands jerking in the shakles, unable to tangle his fingers in Arthur’s hair Francis whined. “Nrg, c-captain, p-please... m-more... p-punish me hard... I d-deserve it, _non_?”

Arthur pulled away, smirking up at Francis. "You seem to be enjoying you're punishment too much," Arthur chuckled. A hand trailed down and grasped Francis's erected cock while the crop tapped against the Frenchman's side. "Maybe I should leave you like this," Arthur suggested, trailing kisses over Francis's stomach. "Would that teach you, Froggie?"

Francis’s eyes widened. He shivered and proceeded to whine again. “ _Noooon_! You cannot be so cruel, captain!” Francis wiggled against Arthur’s lips and tried bucking into the Briton’s hand.  Arthur chuckled.

"Oh calm down frog, you act as though I would seriously do it," Arthur said huskily. His hand ever so achingly slowly moved up and down Francis's shaft, the whip coming down and striking Francis's hip whenever the Frenchman tried to buck for more. "You're cute like this," Arthur confessed, his green eyes trained on Francis's aroused face.

Francis moaned in response, finally using some self control to keep from bucking, but he whimpered at the achingly slow pace. “P-please, please go faster, I-I need it...” The Frenchman begged, looking at Arthur with wide, pleading eyes. Arthur quickened his pace.

"C-Can you say _'Rwy'n dy garu di'_?" Arthur asked, his face flushing red a bit. "I-It means I love you in Welsh."

Francis, flushed from pleasure, stared at Arthur, “I-I don’t even know what you just said! Ren... digga... dee...?” The Frenchman looked very confused as he tried to stumble over the words.

"Ruin dee gar oo dee," Arthur pronounced carefully, laughing lightly. " _Rwy'n dy garu di_. But close enough for a frog." Arthur leaned down and pulled his hand away as he took Francis's length in his mouth.

Francis hissed and threw back his head. “Ah, _oui_ , yes, yes like that!” The Frenchman groaned and foguht to keep himself from doing more than arching carefully up into Arthur’s mouth. “R-roon dee gar dee! Or whatever it is!”

Inwardly, the Englishman chuckled at Francis's second attempt at the rather difficult phrase. He ran his tongue over a vein as a silent reward for at least trying.

Francis groaned loudly as his erection grew achingly hard. “Ah, Arthur, I-I won’t last long i-if you do that... but... s-so good...” He twisted in his restraints as Arthur pulled away. He crawled over Francis and kissed him. It was then that Arthur realized he had no lubrication to continue on. He pulled away and slid off Francis, hurrying over to the wardrobe and scrimmaging through it.

"Francis," Arthur called out, "I can't find-oh. Never mind." Arthur hurried back to Francis, draping himself over the Frenchman. The Englishman began coating his fingers, curiosity making him more absorbed in it than necessary.

Francis watched Arthur with hungry eyes. “Arth- ah, captain, will you be riding or shall I spread my legs?” The Frenchman grinned perversely, “I don’t have a problem either way, though I’m likely less stretchy than you are at the moment...”

"Riding," Arthur replied calmly. He reached back and curiously stuck one finger in his hole. Immediately, he blushed a deep red, the feeling of his own finger was so weird and foreign to the Englishman. He was almost tempted to take it out.

Francis licked his lips, letting out a purr of encouragement as his erection twitched. “Go on, captain, you are... you are... very intoxicating this way...”

"Sh-shut up," Arthur commanded weakly, trying to muster up a glare. He added a second finger, wincing slightly. Arthur probed around, scissoring his fingers as he went about. A soft brush against his prostate, what he had been looking for, sent shivers of pleasure racing through his body. He aimed for the spot, letting out moan when he found it.

Francis moaned and bucked upward, “S-surely your fingers are not enough captain?” Francis grinned, “You know my body is at your command, hon hon hon...”

"W-Will you wait, you frog," Arthur whined, panting heavily now as he added a third finger and pressed against his prostate again. Once he felt it was enough, Arthur retracted his fingers. He straddled Francis's lap, his ass right over Francis's manhood. The Englishman pressed down onto it, slowly taking him in. Arthur moaned, his face red. "F-Francis."

The Frenchman sighed blissfully as he was engulfed, arching up to get as deep as possible, “Wonderful... Arthur... ah...” His hands moved, though they were restricted by the shackles, “P-please...”

Arthur nodded and pushed himself up. He dropped quickly, letting out a moan. He repeated the action, soon finding a rhythm that suited the Englishman.

Francis groaned, bucking up each time Arthur came down and forced himself to match the British man’s rhythm. After a while he began gasping for breath at each thrust and then the breaths formed into a quiet mantra as he released them, “Arthur, more, Arthur, more, yes, Arthur, more, please, Arthur...”

Arthur opened his closed eyes, staring down at Francis. He face heated u p even more as he looked down at what he had dared fantasized about only a few times. He picked up speed, just as Francis had wanted. He moaned out in surprise, eyes widening when he hit his prostate dead on. He faltered slightly before picking up the same fast pace. "F-Francis! O-Oh god, nngh, Francis!"

Francis’s mantra got steadily louder as he grew closer and closer to the edge. He gasped. “A-are you close? I-I’m close I- A-Arthur I can’t h-hold m-much longer I-“ Francis gasped and clenched his teeth, determined to hold back until Arthur had come.

Arthur nodded, unable to get much past the noises that escaped his lips. He pressed down once more, and released with a cry. "Francis!" He quivered, holding himself up and clenching around Francis.

With a loud cry that tapered into a long moan, Francis came inside of Arthur, his seed filling his lover and leaking slightly around his cock, a truly erotic sight. Francis sighed and leaned back. “Ah... lovely...” Francis closed his eyes a moment before opening one halfway and giving a smirk. “Will you release me now, captain, so I might embrace my adorable master?” Arthur reached up a hand and unlocked the cuffs. His last energy being spent, he rested against Francis's chest.

Francis’s arms encircled Arthur, holding the Englishman against him. “Hmm... we should re-enact your fantasies more often, I found that very entertaining.” Lips pressed against the top of Arthur’s head.

"Don't get your hopes up frog," Arthur mumbled contently.

Francis pouted for a moment, running this fingers through Arthur’s hair. Then he chuckled darkly. “Perhaps you would like to help me re-enact some of my own more... interesting fantasies?”

Arthur blushed. "No no, I think we're done with fantasies for awhile."

“Hmm, well for now,” Francis shrugged, “Ready to sleep, _lapin?_ ”

"Yes," Arthur yawned.

This said, Francis arranged Arthur so he was beside him and then got up to extinguish the lamp. Returning to the bed, the Frenchman pulled Arthur flush with himself and sighed. “I hope you know... you truly own my heart at least, _lapin_. I could not bear to lose you, not now...”

Arthur looked up at Francis, his sleepy eyes welling with tears. He wrapped his arms around Francis and held him tightly. "Don't leave me," Arthur said softly, "And I'll never leave you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> Quoi s’agit-il? - (French) what is it?
> 
> Qu’est-ce qu’il criait-il? - (French) what is he shouting about?
> 
> Un navire russe a été repéré et a modifié son cours vers nous. - (French) A Russian ship was spotted and changed its course toward us.
> 
> Oherwydd Bywyd Nid oes rheswm i fod yn deg. - (Welsh) Because Life has no reason to be fair
> 
> Il me fera plaisir - (French) it would be my pleasure
> 
> Épouvantable? Moi? Je ne sais pas ce que vous parlez. - (French) Awful? Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about.
> 
> À moins que le capitaine est fini avec son jeu? - (French) Unless the captain is finished with his game?


	19. Raids

**Chapter 19~ Raids**

As dawn broke over the surface of the water, Francis was awoken by knocking on his cabin door. Smacking his lips and gently nudging Arthur away from himself, Francis went to the door and opened it. “ _Bonjour, que_ \- Ivan?” The Frenchman blinked in surprise.

“ _Da_!” The Russian smiled, “I have come to show you your new cook, Yong-Soo!”

“Oh!” Francis exclaimed, remembering their conversation the day before. “Of course... where is he?”

“Here!” Ivan grinned, pulling a boy with black hair and a flyaway curl into the doorframe. The boy’s eyes widened.

“B-but Jin-Ho... uuuuhh...” Yong-Soo’s eyes travelled down quickly and Francis followed his gaze. Oh, that’s right, he’d forgotten to grab his dressing robe and was currently stark naked. Well, no matter.

“ _Merci_ Ivan, I will put him to work straight away!”

“I’m sure you will!” Ivan said in a sing-song voice, before looking at Yong-Soo carefully. “You will not be allowed back on my ship. You are not to run away from Francis’s ship. If you obey these rules, I might allow Yao-Yao and your twin to visit you here. Understood?”

Yong-Soo gulped, but gave a tiny nod. To this Ivan ruffled the Korean’s hair and gave Francis a smile before heading across the deck to his own ship. Yong-Soo glanced at Francis with fearful eyes.

“S-so, w-what do you mean by put me to work?” he whispered in hushed tones. Francis looked confused for a moment, before understanding the implications, him being naked and all.

“Oh _non_ , nothing like that!” Francis assured him, “Perhaps at one time... but my current lover would likely frown on that. I will show you to the kitchen in a moment, come in!” Francis let Yong-Soo into the room and began to fumble through his drawers for his clothes. Meanwhile Yong-Soo looked around in slight confusion at the plush surroundings, the chains attached to the bed, the riding crop on the floor, the closet opened to reveal... other things... the other naked man in the bed...

“U-um...” Yong-Soo looked away from Arthur, though his eyes kept straying back.

“Ah, yes that’s right!” Francis hurried half-dressed to the bed and shook Arthur’s shoulder, “Wake up _lapin_ , we have company!”

Arthur yawned, blinking sleepily. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes while groggily mumbling something. He looked up, and for the first time, noticed Yong-Soo. The two seemed to stare at each other before Arthur squeaked, red-faced. The Englishman dove under the covers, burying himself in hopes the blankets would hide his embarrassment and cover his naked body. "FRANCIS! WHY IS THERE SOMEONE IN HERE?!"

“Oh, this is Yong-Soo, our new cook, Yao’s brother, _non_?” Francis explained idly, as though this was a completely normal situation, “Anyway, I’m going to take him to the kitchen so he can begin preparing breakfast for us, but I thought you’d like to get acquainted with him!”

Arthur peeked out from the blankets. "You're Yao's brother?"

Yong-Soo smiled a little and nodded, “Um, yes I am, da zee! Uh, you wouldn’t be Arthur, would you?”

"I am," Arthur nodded, coming out from the blankets a bit. "Did Yao or Alfred tell you about me? Oh, and I'm terribly sorry for my under dressed state.

“Yes! Yao told me about an Englishman with big eyebrows da zee! Um, I didn’t really talk to Alfred much though, not really a reason to see him... um, but I’m okay with you being naked!” The Korean smiled, “Actually I-“ His hands opened and closed a couple of times before he flushed and took a step back. “U-uh nothing... da zee...”

The Englishman raised an eyebrow. "Well, I look forward to getting to know you better Yong-Soo," Arthur said, nodding his head. "Ah, let me change and I'll join you in the kitchens soon. I know where our cook hides all the food, yes he hides it." Arthur looked up at Francis, curiosity in his eyes. "Unless Francis needed me to do something else today?"

Francis shook his head. “ _Non_ , you may go to the kitchens. Just be sure not to cook anything!” The Frenchman chuckled.

"Hey, I'm not that bad," Arthur pouted. He sighed and nodded to Yong-Soo. "Um, can you wait outside while I change?"

Yong-Soo looked a little startled at being addressed, but nodded eagerly. “Yes, I’ll wait outside for you da zee!” With that he ran from the room and slammed the door behind him, making Francis wince.

“Ah... he has a lot of energy, _non_?”

"Like a child," Arthur hummed, a small smile playing on his lips. "This'll be interesting." The Englishman dragged himself out of bed, much to his own irritation, and got dressed. He said goodbye to his lover and walked out, almost hitting Yong-Soo with the door. "B-Bloody hell! W-What are you doing standing so close?!" Arthur fretted, surprised.

Yong-Soo flushed as well. “Uh, um, w-well my brother, Jin-Ho, always tells me if I wander too much I get lost, so when I wait somewhere I can’t move from where I’m waiting, da zee! And um... um...” Yong-Soo frowned and stared off across the sea to the Russian ship sailing not all that far away. “And um, I-I think I heard my brother scream too...” his hair curl seemed to droop, “I think he knows I’m gone da zee.”

Arthur looked across as well, following Yong-Soo's line of vision. "Well, it can't be helped now," Arthur sighed. "C'mon, follow me. I'll take you down to the kitchen." He motioned for the Asian to follow him and began heading down to the desired room.

Yong-Soo followed behind Arthur more closely than the Englishman would have deemed necessary, but they reached the kitchen without incident. Inside, Jacques was already setting up things to begin cooking breakfast since he’d been filling in since the loss of Yao. When informed by Arthur of the change in assignments, Jacques merely nodded and left the kitchen to the two other men. The Korean immediately began looking through the stores of food and the cooking utensils.

“Er, I’m not used to all of these ingredients da zee,” Yong-Soo frowned, “I know Russian, Chinese and Korean dishes, but I’ve never made French food before... w-what will Francis do if I mess up, da zee?”

"Nothing, as far as I'm aware of it," Arthur replied, taking an apple from under the cupboards. "Yao's made a couple Chinese dishes before during my stay, and Francis hasn't complained. I suppose we'll think of something though." Arthur opened all the places he knew where Yao kept food. He went about showing Yong-Soo where the spices, pots and pans, water storage, meats, and vegetables were at. Although the fresh food was in lacking amounts than usual since the items had been expensive in their currently poor state. Once that was done, Arthur took a seat in the stool in the corner where he usually sat and watched Yao. "Well that's it," Arthur finished. "I suppose, it's probably best to get to work now."

Yong-Soo nodded and began to set up a pot and take various foods from the shelves. “Um, how many people are on this ship, so I know how much to make, da zee?”

Arthur sighed. "Let me think. I'd say at least 77-78 people. It's a rather large Sloop."

Yong-Soo nodded. “So less than Captain Ivan’s ship, da zee,” The Korean set to work under Arthur’s gaze. Once he had some sort of porridge bubbling on the stove, the Korean had a chance to speak to Arthur again. “Um, s-so, Francis doesn’t... doesn’t punish the cook if the food isn’t to his liking? A-are you sure?”

"No," Arthur replied, his tone gentle. "He's not Ivan. The frog is a perv at times, but he has a kind a heart. Besides, I'm sure the worst he'll do is complain and whine."

Yong-Soo shivered, but nodded, looking a little more relaxed. “Um, well... you’re really kind too, da zee!” He grinned at the Englishman.

"Well thank you," Arthur chuckled. "I like to pride myself in being a proper English gentleman whenever possible."

Yong-Soo’s smile then changed minutely as he began to sneak closer to Arthur, “And... and well...” Yong-Soo’s arms reached toward Arthur and the Englishman nibbled on his lip. Was the boy going to hug him? He had gone through a lot that day, perhaps...

Then Yong-Soo latched his hands onto Arthur’s chest.

“YOUR BREASTS BELONG TO ME, DA ZEE!”

"BLOODY HELL?!" Arthur lashed out, punching him in the shoulder; while his other hand came up to protectively shield his chest. His face was a vibrant crimson and the flustered Englishman was wide-eyed. "BLOODY PERVERT!!"

“Ow,” Yong-Soo rubbed his shoulder, “You hit harder than Yao... perversion was invented in Korea, da zee!” The Korean laughed, then winced, “Um... oh, the porridge is done!” the boy hurried to the stove to fuss over the pot, completely ignoring what had just happened.

"I'm sure it was," Arthur muttered to himself, still red faced. He cleared his throat. "C-Care to explain why you went and molested me?" Arthur asked louder. "Perverted wanker."

Yong-Soo looked at Arthur curiously, “Huh? Oh, I wasn’t molesting! I was claiming your breasts da zee! I always claim the breasts of people I like! Because breasts originated in Korea! Yao punches me when I claim his breasts too, so it’s okay, I forgive you for it da zee!” Yong-Soo then frowned slightly, “Jin-Ho told me not to claim breasts anymore but... he’s not here... y-you won’t tell him right?” The boy suddenly looked incredibly fearful, all colour drained from his face. Arthur blinked in surprise. That face, that fearful face. He had seen it so many times on himself, on his brothers, on Alfred. He couldn't go against that frightened face, because he knew what it was like to be afraid on another. Arthur shook his head.

"No, I won't tell," Arthur promised solemnly. He frowned, and then added, "But you can't claim my breasts anymore. Once is enough."

Yong-Soo sighed in relief, some colour returning to his face, “W-well, good da zee! But... why only once? What if I only do it on special occasions? Is that okay?” Yong-Soo grabbed up the pot. “Where do I take this to feed everyone, da zee?”

"In the dining area just up those stairs," Arthur replied, nodding up to the narrow passage of stairs tucked and hidden in another corner of the kitchen. He was pointedly ignoring the Korean's other question.

Breakfast was served and received by the crew well enough. Seeing as porridge is not the most complex of dishes, it wasn’t much different from Jacques’ attempts at the same thing, though one with discerning taste buds might notice different spices were used in it. However after Yong-Soo watched the crew eat for a while, he looked at Arthur in confusion.

“Um, where is the captain? Is he not going to eat or do I serve him in his quarters da zee?” The Korean asked hesitantly.

"Oh! Right," Arthur laughed. "I serve him his food. No doubts he's in his cabin. Do you mind serving two plates for me while I get the tray and utensils?"

“Sure, da zee!” Yong-Soo smiled and served up two bowls of porridge as Arthur did just that. “Here you go, da zee!”

"Thank you," Arthur nodded, placing the two bowls on the tray with the spoons. He looked around the dug an apple out from in cupboard and placed that on the tray. "Yao usually took a small break before he started making lunch," Arthur commented. "I'll be back in awhile, until then, relax a bit."

“I will, da zee!” Yong-Soo smiled and saluted before beginning to clean up the pot and some dishes to bring down to the kitchen again. Arthur meanwhile headed to the captain’s quarters. He knocked on the door with his foot and was quickly greeted by Francis, smiling happily to see him.

“So, do you think you will get along with our new cook, _lapin_?” he asked as he gestured for Arthur to set the bowls on their dining table.

"He's certainly interesting," Arthur mused, smiling as he set the tray down. "I can see why Yao wanted to have sent him over here. He has his own Scott, if you know what I mean."

Francis frowned slightly as he sat at the table. “I think I do... oh, and today I need to have a meeting with Gilbert and Antonio... and Ivan I suppose, about our next attack. We’ll be running into a trade route around noon so we’ll likely find a target fast enough. With four ships we’ll have no trouble I’m sure, but I need to ask you this...” Francis gave Arthur a contemplative look and rested his chin on his hands. “While a merchant vessel faced with four pirate ships ought to surrender on sight, if it comes to a battle, would you prefer to stay in the cabin here or join in the fighting? I have seen your skills with a sword and I believe against simple merchants and their guards you will be in little danger. So I leave the question to you.”

"Well of course I'll fight," Arthur replied. "I'm apparently not in the British navy anymore. So what's to stop me from piracy? Besides, if I don't practice I'll lose my skills."

Francis smirked, taking up Arthur’s hand to kiss the back of it. “Of course, _mon cheri_. I look forward to seeing your skills used for my side.” Arthur huffed, his face dusting red.

Later in the day, after a brief meeting with the other captains, several lookouts were stationed to find their next target ship. It was mid-afternoon when one finally breached the horizon, and immediately course shifted toward it. The pirate ships were faster than the merchant vessel, and were able to overtake the fleeing ship within a couple of hours. The crews stood poised, Francis on the bow with Arthur at his side.

“They have not yet raised a white flag,” Francis scoffed, “They are foolish, _non_?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, scanning the ship over.  "I think it's already in trouble," Arthur commented. "I think it's..." He continued scanning it over.

Francis’ eyebrow rose and he looked at Arthur curiously. “You think it is what, _lapin_?”

"My guess is that it knows we're pirate ships, but they're being naive in hopes we'll be regular ships that will offer help. Look, the sails are up, but you can tell they've been cut, and there're the scratches on the sides, they've already been attacked. Although since they're alive I assume they escaped." Arthur nodded, his observations done.

Francis hummed. “ _Oui_ , I see your point... well we’ll see how hospitable they are when we box them in, _non_? If they have any valuables left, we will take them, and if they do not have enough of those, we will be taking slaves instead. We do need the money after all.”

As they drew alongside the merchant vessel, Gilbert’s ship on the other side of it with Antonio’s on the rear and Ivan’s pacing out in front to prevent any hope of escape, it became clear that the sailors left on the ship had no intention of fighting. Instead they were shouting at the ship on their knees.

“Oh, they are Italian,” Francis nodded and went to edge of the ship to try speaking with them in his limited knowledge of the language. After some conversation, a plank from both Gilbert and Francis’ ships were placed to allow the French and Prussian pirates to cross and begin rounding up the Italians in the center of their boat. Francis took this opportunity to explain the situation to Arthur.

“It seems you were right. They were already attacked earlier today and many were gravely injured. It seems they were promised by the other pirates that they would be free to go after they handed over their valuables, but instead they were set upon and were nearly slaughtered. It’s a miracle this many survived...” Francis sighed, “Anyway, I have told them that they will receive medical attention, though they will become our captives to be later sold as slaves. Seeing as their boat is not fully operational and they will have no chance of escape from us, they have surrendered themselves.”

“I figured as much," Arthur sighed. "Well, I think I'll explore about and see what I can find. No doubt they didn't give ALL their valuables."

Francis nodded, “ _Oui cheri_ , just be sure to keep a dagger on hand in case anyone gives you trouble and report your findings to me,” Francis gave Arthur’s ass a squeeze as he nudged him off in the direction of the door to the Italian ship’s interior.

The Englishman blushed, glared back at Francis, and then walked off. As he wandered, he realized the carvings in the ship’s interior were probably worth a bit. The lavish rugs were still laid on the floors, and glass chandeliers still hung in hallways. Boy, whoever robbed these Italians didn't strip them clean, as the Englishman predicted. He searched the rooms, finding some passengers who practically threw themselves at him. Doing the best he could, the Englishman directed them to go above deck using simple English and hand gestures, giving the fretful Italians sweet smiles that easily deceive them. Arthur snorted, watching yet another Italian man fearfully go down the hall and up the stairs.

"The ship was attacked and robbed, but by armature pirates," Arthur scoffed. "Hell, some of these paintings will rake in some worth." Arthur shook his head and continued exploring. He opened the door to one room, the sound of pained gasps drawing him in.

"Hello?"

" _Andarsene!_ " a man yelled in Italian, expertly throwing a dagger that Arthur barely dodged.

"C-Calm down!" Arthur snapped, groaning as the man shouted at him. "I can't understand a word you're saying!" The man glared, and it was then Arthur decided to get a good look at him. He was tall, if his long laid out legs gave any indication. His skin golden and obviously fit from the muscles that bulged from under his bloody tunic. One hand was pressed tightly against a wound that was rapidly seeping out blood. It was a wonder he hadn't passed out from the blood loss. His chin had dark brown stubble and his eyes a familiar golden honey color. But what grabbed his attention were the three curls in his short dark brown hair. Three curls, if separated and put on different people, would be similar to the three runaway Italians they were chasing.

"You...help?"

Arthur blinked. "Huh?"

"You're not one of the men who attacked us," the man spoke again, his voice thick with an accent. Arthur shook his head.

"No, I'm not a pirate sir," Arthur lied easily. The man was clearly older than him, and that earned him respect from the Englishman.

"You're lying boy," the man chuckled. "We’re being attacked again?"

"Helped sir," Arthur answered, shaking his head. "I'm Arthur Kirkland."

"Romulus Vargus."

"Vargus sir, stay and I'll be back with help," Arthur said. He took the bed sheets and tied it around Romulus's waist, then made the man press against it again. "I'll be back." Arthur promised.

"Oh take your time, I'm just dying," Romulus snickered. Arthur smiled and ran off upstairs to get help.

Once on the deck again, Francis grinned at Arthur as he approached. “It was good of you to direct the passengers upstairs to us, much easier _non_? So is there anything of value left onboard?”

"Yes, quite a lot actually," Arthur replied. "But there's one man downstairs who can't move. Probably dying, but I'm hoping we can still try to help him. He said his name's Romulus Vargas, speaks English."

 “Vargas?” Francis’ eyes widened and flickered to Gilbert as he shouted for the Prussian to finish counting up the sailors and passengers and start loading them onto their own ships. Then he turned back to Arthur. “Take me to Vargas immediately.”

Arthur nodded and hurried back to where he’d left the dying man. He opened the door cautiously, jumping when a knife imbedded itself in the wall near his head.

"Oh, it's just you, Kirkland."

"Yes sir, just me," Arthur nodded. "I brought help." Romulus scanned the Frenchman, an amused look on his face.

"You brought a woman? A really hairy and breastless woman?" Arthur snorted, and then began laughing.

Francis looked scandalized and snapped, “I-I am not a woman! Sir, I will have you know I am Francis Bonnefoy, captain of the pirate ship ‘ _Vin de la Vie_ ’ and I have made love to more women than you have met in your lifetime I’m sure!”

"Oh you sure about that boy?" Romulus snickered, a twinkle in his eyes. "I'll have you know, I'm Italian~! We're natural lovers~!"

Francis snorted, “Well I’ll have you know I am French! We are not only natural lovers, but we are true masters of romance!” Francis winked at Arthur, “Is that not true, _lapin_?”

"I'm staying out of this," Arthur hummed, his face dusting a light pink. "Now, Vargas sir, about your wound."

"Ah, _si. Si_ ," Romulus sighed sadly. "So I'm going to die here, sick and alone."

"I certainly hope not sir," Arthur said determinedly. Romulus smiled sadly.

"Yes Kirkland, I'm dying."

“Er, _oui_ , so about that...” Francis frowned, “Would you be the grandfather or another relation of Lovino, Feliciano and Marcello Vargas?”

"My grandsons?" Romulus gasped, eyes widening. "Y-You know my beloved grandsons?!"

“Er, _oui_ ,” Francis’ frown deepened, “Though I am sorry to say they are not with me presently, Lovino and Feliciano had until recently been living on the ship of my friend Antonio who sails with me. Marcello caught up with them while we made port in Spain and the three of them have taken off across Spanish land to reach Italy because young Marcello informed his brothers that you were ill.” The Frenchman shook his head, “Though apparently not so ill that you would not attempt to go after them yourself. I assume that is what you are doing here, _non_?”

"All my boys are gone," Romulus said darkly. "My...neighbor wanted me to stay. His own grandsons ran off into the world long ago, so he was used to the loneliness. I couldn't be without my beloved grandchildren, so I came after them."

Francis folded his arms. “And if either you or your grandchildren had stayed where you were instead of trying to find each other, you could have met again. Now look at you, dying without even a last look at them.” The Frenchman tsked. “Arthur, bedclothes make a poor bandage. We cannot move him safely from this room in this condition and even if we fetch proper bandages his life may only be prolonged a few hours, he’s had too much blood loss by now. Does this ship have no doctor? No matter...” The Frenchman shook his head and then looked at Romulus with a faintly sorrowful expression. “I am sorry I cannot be of more help to you. If it is any consolation, we are going to Italy to meet up with your grandsons. Is there anything you would like us to say to them from you, when we see them?”

Romulus looked guilt stricken. "I..." The Italian man bowed his head. " _Si_. Tell them...tell Marcello I'm sorry I wasn't all there after the boys were taken. I do love him, and I couldn't be more proud of him. Tell Feliciano I loved him dearly, but I had to go away now. He is a marvelous painter, a brilliant boy, and my little boy. My favorite little one. Tell Lovino..."

The man choked over his words, his eyes watering. Arthur knelt beside him, and Romulus immediately grabbed his hand in a bone crushing vice grip. Arthur winced, but didn't recoil.

"Tell Lovino I'm sorry for the shitty childhood I gave him," Romulus gasped. "Tell him I do love him. He's every bit the fighter his old man and myself were in our youth. Tell him that he's responsible for the others. All the land and inheritance goes to Feli, but my own estate to him. My honor and legacy will continue in him. He is my eldest, therefore my heir. And..." Romulus laughed. "And tell him he was right. I WOULD sleep with Alderic Beilschmidt, and I did!" The Italian laughed harshly, the laughter slowly fading out to sobs.

Francis bowed his head. “I will make sure they know.” The Frenchman paused, “I... I really do need to see to my men at the moment, but if you would like, Arthur will stay with you until...” The Frenchman trailed off and then cleared this throat, “Well, until he has no further need to?”

"I'll stay with him," Arthur nodded.

Francis nodded and leaned in to kiss Arthur’s forehead before leaving the two alone, presumably to make sure the new slaves were safely locked up and the injured cared for, and then to work on gathering up the rugs and paintings left behind in the last attack.

Arthur turned to the crying Italian man. He bit his lip and patted him on the back. Romulus was most likely older than him, much older despite looking so young and Arthur was unsure in how to go about trying to reassure the prideful Italian man. Slowly, the man's tears faded, becoming nothing more than small sniffles.

"Have you ever lost someone?" Romulus asked through his sniffs.

"Yes sir," Arthur said quietly. "Many friends I've lost, my brother...son...he's with your boys."

Romulus looked up at him with sad eyes. "So you're desperate to get him back as I am with my boys, si?"

"Yes sir."

Romulus snorted and ruffled Arthur's hair, much to the Briton's annoyance. But really, who could deny a dying grandfather? Especially if it was the Italians' grandfather.

"You’re so polite, what made you become something like this?"

"It wasn't exactly my life goal, sir," Arthur chuckled lightly. "I was a General for the British Naval. We were ransacked by that bloke who just left, and I was taken on board as a slave."

Romulus made a noise, his eyelids heavy with the sleepiness of death. "But you fell in love." It was a statement, not a question. Arthur nodded. Romulus chuckled. "It's a fun thing to be in love," Romulus hummed. "I feel like I'm betraying Alderic by dying. Like I'm abandoning my boys if I die. I..."

Arthur sat closer. "For all it's worth sir, I think you brave for living a full life that you have," Arthur said. "Now you can protect the ones you love from behind with such amazing powers as an angel. Yes, it's rather lonely I suppose, to only see and protect your loved ones, unable to touch or talk to them. But you can be the very thing that will forever keep them safe. When I die, I hope I can be something like that. An angel who protects the living from harm, because there's just too much sadness in this world."

Romulus looked at Arthur, his eyes drooping lower and lower. He smiled. "You're beyond your years," Romulus said gently. "You won't die anytime soon, and thank you. You made this old man excited to be a part of something bigger than life. I can...watch...over t...them."

Arthur remained silent, his eyes trained on the wall in front of him. He heard Romulus slump against the bed he had been leaning against, and he moved no more. Arthur stood up, his hand easily slipping from Romulus's, looked down sadly at the Italian man. He almost seemed to be sleeping.

"Goodbye sir," Arthur said reverently. "I hope you had some peace." The Englishman bowed his head in respect to the dead man, then turned and walked out.

When Arthur emerged onto the deck again, the majority of the passengers had been escorted onto the other ships and Arthur had passed crewmates removing rugs, paintings, and chandeliers. Though there was nothing that could be done about the carvings as they were a part of the ship.

Francis gave him a nod as he oversaw a particularly large chandelier being brought aboard his ship. “We will have to count all this later so we can divide it amongst Antonio and Ivan’s ships as well. Of course we’ll likely need to take another ship to truly have enough booty to sell in port. There are some expensive items left but not nearly enough to outfit four ships with supplies and wages.” The Frenchman gave Arthur a concerned look. “Do you wish to give him a proper burial at sea?”

"Yes, I do," Arthur nodded.

Francis sighed, but nodded. “ _Oui_ , alright, I will make arrangements. Go to our ship and find a white sheet or something large enough to wrap his body in, I will make arrangements for a few men to carry his body. Hurry, we shouldn’t linger here longer than necessary.”

Arthur nodded and hurried off to do such a thing. Eventually, after scouring around a bit, he did find a large white sheet. He went back onto the ship and immediately went to Romulus's cabin. He spread out the sheet and struggled to get the older man on it. After a bit of effort, it was done. He wrapped Romulus carefully and then sat on the bed. Someone would have to tell the Italians, and they would probably be devastated.

After some time, Francis entered the room, flanked by Gilbert, Matthew and Ludwig. Gilbert and Ludwig solemnly gathered up Romulus’ body in the sheet and proceeded to carry it together down the hall, followed by Arthur, Francis and Matthew in a proper procession to the deck. There were few people left on the ship at this point, though those who remained did have the decency to quiet in respect for the dead which their captains were treating with such care, one going so far as to help carry the body.

At last they reached the edge of the ship, signalling for the French ship to draw away from the Italian one long enough to cast Romulus’ body off the side. Francis looked at the impromptu pallbearers who were waiting for someone to say something over the body.

Francis cleared his throat. “Father in heaven, kindly take this great man up unto yourself. He has fought many a battle, loved many a woman, and cared for his three grandchildren more than many have cared for their own children born directly of themselves. May his spirit be in peace, watching over those he leaves behind.” The Frenchman looked at Arthur, “Would you like to add anything?” he asked quietly. Arthur shook his head. He has said all he had wanted to say before, and this was simply the letting go part.

Francis nodded first to Arthur, then to the body, which was carefully pushed over the side, falling gracefully and soon engulfed by the sea foam below. They stood in silence for a few minutes before the French ship approached again. Matthew looked at Arthur, and then gave both him and Francis swift embraces before turning with Gilbert and Ludwig to return to their ship. Arthur followed Francis on to their own vessel.

They drew away from the Italian ship, leaving it to sail and sink on its own. After making some distance between them, the pirate ships drew close to each other again for the captains to meet and start discussing division of booty. Arthur was left standing with Alfred to one side of the room where the captains were speaking as Ivan still would not allow Alfred out of his sight and Arthur was taking every opportunity to be with his surrogate son. Matthew was also in the room, but sitting close to Gilbert, glaring at Ivan and pretending not to notice Alfred at all.

"So, that guy...?" Alfred said quietly, trying to start a conversation. He still hated silence. "He was...Lovino's Grandpapa?"

"Yes," Arthur replied tonelessly. Alfred scowled slightly and nudged his father figure.

"You're awfully sober."

"Alfred, we just buried a man," Arthur reminded.

"Oh...right."

Arthur sighed and shook his head. "He was a good man, he earned my respect."

Alfred sighed and shook his head. "You're so...emotional. Put your female hormones away."

"Excuse you?!" Alfred laughed as Arthur raged at him. Arthur's eyes flickered over to Matthew, and he realized what his American son was doing. The Englishman scowled and leaned against the wall. Neutrality it would have to be then. Alfred looked shocked by the loss of his father's snappy remarks, and immediately tried egging him on again. No, with the intense looks Matthew was giving them, Arthur wouldn't dare respond to the comments Alfred made.

At last some sort of agreement seemed to have been met and the meeting was adjourned. The captains rose to their feet and made to leave the cabin, Ivan taking care that Alfred’s hand was firmly in his own before moving to the door. Matthew pressed himself into Gilbert’s side and both he and his lover were sending extremely dark looks to the Russian and American’s backs.

“Oh _mio,_ ” Antonio moaned at Francis, “Why couldn’t I have been there to receive their _nonno_ ’s message? Surely I should have been there to-“

“To what?” Francis snorted, “Let him see the face of the one who stole his grandsons away?”

Antonio’s eyes widened. “W-well, perhaps he would have given me some kind of atonement if I explained how much I cared for them! I mean-“

Francis sighed and put a hand on the Spaniard’s shoulder, silencing him. “Antonio, try to look on the brighter side of this, _non_? With their grandfather dead, Lovino has no reason not to return to you, now.”

Antonio’s eyes widened and indeed he did brighten considerably. “Oh, that’s right! Lovi~ I’m coming for you!”

Arthur shook his head, muttering Welsh to himself so the others wouldn't understand. The Englishman wandered off, eventually finding himself above on deck. Arthur took a deep breath, the salty air satisfying his need for calmness. Arthur smiled softly, staring out at the never ending blue. Some things were never made to be simple, but the Englishman wanted nothing more than that.

\-- --

It was approximately two hours later that a second merchant ship was spotted. This time it had been decided that, while Francis would remain a part of the part actually doing the raiding since between Francis and Arthur they knew the most languages, it would be Ivan’s ship that would assist from the other side, with Antonio in front and Gilbert bringing up the rear. They were ready for a fight but...

“Ah, a white flag,” Francis nodded, “Well, faced with four ships it IS only natural to surrender.”

Arthur crossed his arms. Really, this seemed a little too easy. Even his crew had put up a fight against three ships. Chances were if he had to face four ships, he probably would've done it. This ship, like the last one before, was boxed in as well. Arthur leaned against the railing, looking a tiny bit bored.

As if reading Arthur’s mind, Francis rubbed Arthur’s back and smiled. “ _Lapin_ , your ship was a member of the queen’s navy. Its sailors were also part of the militia for the most part. These are mere merchants with some hired guards; it is hardly the same thing.”

"So much for some excitement then," Arthur sighed. "And I was looking forward to a good spar."

Francis shook his head. “You cannot have everything, _mon amour_. Now let us go and greet our suppliers, _non_?” Francis smiled as he led Arthur across the plank. The captain of the other ship, a Spanish vessel, spoke quickly with Francis as Ivan approached from the other side. Alfred was absent, though that was likely because Ivan wanted to make sure he was completely safe and out of the way. No doubt Alfred was unhappy with the arrangement.

After a moment, the Spanish captain gave a quick nod and barked some orders to his crew. Francis turned to smile at Arthur.

“There, they are going to bring up their cargo for us. I suppose we should dispatch some people to take valuables from the passengers... would you like to be one of that party, _lapin_? I cannot promise it will be exciting, but it will be something for you to do.”

"Yeah, so long as it's something to do," Arthur nodded.

Francis nodded and set about gathering some of his crewmembers, Claude and Jacques included, to begin shaking down the passengers. Ivan’s crew already had their hands full keeping the sailors under firm control and moving the Spanish cargo onto the Russian ship. Francis had to accept that Ivan would likely be less than honest about how much cargo there was that needed to be split amongst four ships, there was no way he would be able to argue with the man about that.

“Come along, Arthur,” Jacques grinned at the Englishman, “It is time to do your duty as a pirate, now.”

"Well, let's go see what the Grand English Empire has been raising me against," Arthur laughed.

The group headed below deck. Swords were pointed at each person they came across and coin purses and jewellery fell into the bags the French pirates had brought with them.

“There, you get that one,” Claude told Arthur, pointing to a man sitting at the back of the dining hall and looking rather defiant, “He might offer you a bit of excitement.”

Arthur nodded and walked over to him. His sword was swiftly pointed to the man's neck and Arthur looked down on him. "Valuables," Arthur demanded calmly. " _Objets de valeur_."

The man sneered and backed away from the sword, abruptly rolling out of the way to the floor and standing, holding out a sword of his own and spat at Arthur’s face. “ _Mangez de la merde, pirate,_ ” the man swore in French, “ _Vous n’obtiendrez rien de moi._ ”

Arthur grinned. "Finally!" He lunged forward, lashing out with quick coordinated sharp slashes. Swords  
clashed, although Arthur's attacks were much more graceful. Arthur played with the other, battering the man around. Shallow slashes covered the other man's arms and face, although Arthur remained unharmed.

It wasn’t long before the man was breathing hard with effort, wincing in pain at his many wounds. Yet still he refused to lower his sword. It was odd that he was being so stubborn, he was clearly outmatched.

“Arthur!” Claude called to the Englishman, “We are finished with everyone else, quit playing around- slit his throat if he won’t hand things over quietly!” These words made the other passengers in the room gasp and shiver, but the man Arthur was fighting only seemed to redouble his efforts.

Arthur scowled, not really liking the idea of killing. He lunged forward, letting his sword bury deep into the man's leg. He ignored the pained scream and pulled out his sword. The man fell and Arthur slashed deeply at his main sword fighting hand. Properly subdued in the Englishman's mind, Arthur kicked the man's sword away and searched him for other weapons first. Finding none, Arthur then stripped him of all the valuable things on his personage. "See ya," Arthur said cheerily. He stood up and picked up the other man's sword. He jabbed it in through the man's hand, nodding to himself when the tip firmly lodged itself into the wood. Arthur picked up his bag of loot and hurried after the other French pirates.

“ _Espèce de salaud!_ ” The man screamed behind him, “ _Vous n'avez pas besoin de le prendre! A quoi bon peut-il vous apporter? Bastard!_ ”

Claude on the other hand, ruffled Arthur’s hair and grinned. “There you go, first looting. How do you feel about it?”

"I think I was wrong to join the Naval," Arthur grinned back. "It was fun enough."

They continued this way through the rest of the ship and eventually emerged onto the deck again loaded with valuables. Arthur first noted Francis shaking his head at Ivan, who was looking rather longingly a cute, brunette sailor tied up across the deck with the other captives.

“Ivan, I thought you have decided to remain faithful to Alfred, _non_? Does he not please you?”

Ivan groaned, “He does! But it is difficult, _da_? Tell me you are not tempted by skin that smooth and tanned just right~”

Francis swallowed hard, “That... is entirely beside the point. I have no intention of playing with that boy, and to make sure temptation is out of our path we will leave him on this ship with the other passengers to continue their way to the next port.”

Ivan pouted, “I can’t even touch him a little?”

Francis shook his head. “ _Non_ , think of how Alfred would feel!”

“Aww... he would understand, _da_?” Ivan said with mock-brightness.

"It would tear Alfred apart," Arthur said loudly, his eyes narrowing. "You'll only make Alfred think Matthew was right, therefore leading Alfred to the decision to leave you."

Ivan’s eyes narrowed back at Arthur, “Alfred will not leave me. He is not allowed to.” But the Russian’s lips quirked into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I was teasing anyway. I would not actually do anything. So is everything of value that is not a person been taken from the ship? If so I would like to set sail again.”

Arthur silently walked over to Francis, ignoring pretty much everything else around them. He held the bag up for Francis to see, a small smile on his face.

"Well, I think this was pretty successful," Arthur commented.

Francis smiled and reached into the bag, running his hands over a gold plated pocket watch. “ _Oui_ , quite successful...” the Frenchman pulled the watch from the bag and opened it, revealing an interior inlaid with diamonds, an excited gleam coming to his eyes. “Ah...” his eyes shifted to the lid of the opened watch and paused, frowned slightly, “There... seems to be a lock of hair pressed inside here...” he dug with his finger and looked horrified, “ _Glued_ inside here! The value plummets...” he looked rather disappointed now, “Well... no matter, it will still be worth much, perhaps we can find a solvent. Now, are we ready to go?” Francis asked Claude, who nodded as he held a second bag. “ _Parfait_!”

"Let's go then," Arthur agreed.

They got back onto their ship easily enough and left the Spanish merchant ship to float aimlessly until its crew could coax the passengers onto the deck to untie  
them. A ways off the captains met again to divide up the booty properly, and between the two ships worth of goods and the new Italian slaves, they decided they had enough to be comfortable at least when they reached the next port.

As the sun set, Francis sighed and leaned against the headboard of the bed, holding the pocket watch in his hand and trying his best to scrub the lock of hair out of it. He’d managed to get good chunks of it out, but it was still making the interior of the lid fuzzy in patches.

“This is so gross!” the Frenchman complained, scraping at the glue with a nail file.

"Whoever did it must have done it for this exact reason," Arthur commented, watching Francis struggle to remove the hair.

Francis pouted, “I know that, but... _zut_!” The Frenchman threw the watch down on the mattress in frustration. “It would be such a lovely accessory if it would only come clean...” he moaned and looked at Arthur, “My fingers are sore, can you try for a while, _cheri_?”

"Sure, let me see," Arthur shrugged. He took the watch and scratched at the glue. A bit came off, but it still wasn't much of a success.

Francis sighed. “I wonder whose hair that is that is so important. A lover, perhaps? Or a child? Well no matter. Perhaps I can find glue solvent at the next port if we absolutely cannot rid ourselves of it here.”

"Sounds like a good idea," Arthur agreed, handing the watch back.

Francis nodded, tucking the watch away into a drawer and stretching out on the bed. “I wonder though...” The Frenchman smirked, “Perhaps it would be easier to replace the lock of hair with someone else’s, and merely glue a new lock over the remains of the old?”

"Huh?" Arthur blinked, thoroughly confused. "Replace? You want to put different hair there?"

“I think it would be interesting...” Francis shrugged, “I do not intend to resell it, so why not have a different lock of hair to pet in here? It would be a nice memento. Though I would have to think... would it be yours or Mathieu’s?” he sighed a shook his head, “Perhaps Mathieu’s is better, since I do not see him as much these days as I used to.”

"Good luck getting a lock of his hair," Arthur said, giving Francis a look. "That's just plain bonkers in my mind."

“Bonkers?” Francis’s eyes widened, “To hold a lock of hair of your child is sweet! And to have one of your lover is... _tres_ romantic, _non_?” A grin widened its way across his face, “Perhaps I will have a lock of yours anyway, _lapin_...”

"T-That's just weird," Arthur grumbled, his face heating up. Weird, but flattering.

“You think so?” Francis crawled close to Arthur and threaded his fingers through the man’s hair, “You are getting shaggy again anyway...”

"I know, don't remind me," Arthur sighed, bringing a hand to brush a lock behind his ear. "I'm going to cut it soon."

“So why not allow me to keep a lock for myself?” Francis grinned, “So I will always have a little part of you with me~”

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but when over the sentence in his head. No, it was certainly too sappy to say aloud. He hesitated and instead said, "It's still weird."

“ _Non_ , what would be weird is asking for... pretty much any part of your body other than your hair,” Francis pointed out with a slight frown.

"Th-That's true," Arthur agreed begrudgingly. He sighed and then looked up at Francis again. "Hey weren't you trying to convince me to keep my hair long once? Are you suddenly changing your mind so you can take a piece?"

Francis nibbled on his lip and twirled a piece of his own hair around his finger. “I suppose it is... possible...”

Arthur gave him a look. "Oh get me a knife then! I'll cut a piece off for you."

Francis squealed and clapped in happiness for getting his way, jumping off the bed and soon returning with a dagger in hand. “Make sure it is a good size lock, but not too much, I do not want you to look too silly after.”

"I spoil you too much," Arthur muttered, taking the dagger in his own hand. He ran a hand through his hair, surprised to find it halfway down his neck already. He sliced off a lock from his nape, figuring the top layers would hide the cut. He gave the hair to Francis. "Maybe I really should just cut it," Arthur mused, running his hand through his hair again.

Francis rubbed the hair softly between his fingers before grabbing a piece of string to tie the hairs together into a bundle. Grabbing up the watch he experimentally fit the bundle into the lid. “Ah, there! It will cover that other hair nicely. I’ll get some glue later.” The Frenchman snapped the watch shut with the hair inside and then practically pounced on Arthur, pushing him back onto the bed and holding his head back by the hair as he ravished the Englishman’s neck with lips and tongue. Arthur let out a surprised moan, his face heating up immediately. The sharp pain that came from the hair tugging wasn't so bad.

"F-Francis!" Arthur snapped out once he was able to clear his head a bit. Well as clear as it could get when there was someone worshiping his neck.

Francis hummed against the Englishman’s neck before drawing back and smirking, “Oh no, _cheri_ , you should definitely keep your hair long. You seem to like this,” Francis tugged on the hair again, a little more gently this time, while cupping Arthur’s crotch in his other hand and feeling his member begin twitching to life.

Arthur let out another moan, softer this time, and subtly lifted his hips up to rub against Francis's hand. "P-Pervert."

“Hm, but only for you,” Francis dipped his hand and connected their lips, quickly forcing his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and twisting the Englishman’s tongue into a dance with his own.  Arthur let the other invade his mouth, but raised his own hands to tangle up in Francis's hair and pull. If the Frenchman was going to pull his hair, then by damn Arthur would pull his.

Francis gasped and was tugged backward, eyes watering slightly, “ _Merde_! Not so hard, _lapin_! Firm is sexy, but don’t tug it out!”

"S-Sorry," Arthur muttered, face reddening even more with added embarrassment.

“I-it is alright,” Francis sighed and reconnected their lips, threading his fingers back through Arthur’s hair and stroking through it, tugging slightly as a went as if firmly stroking a cat.  Arthur, deciding it was better just to not pull Francis's hair at all, kissed back.

At last Francis drew away and began pulling up Arthur’s shirt. Once it was over his head, the Frenchman quickly pushed it down behind Arthur, his arms still entangled within and pushed the Brit down so his arms were trapped. Then he sat on his legs. “I wonder, are you ticklish, _lapin?_ ”

Arthur gave him a look. "Oh of course not frog," Arthur said sarcastically. "Me laughing last time when you and Peter tickled me in the bath was just me laughing for my own amusement."

“Oh, yes,” Francis blinked, “I had forgotten... well it will still be fun now I’m sure~” Francis grinned and immediately attacked Arthur’s sides, rubbing at the underside of his ribs and tickling up to his armpits. Arthur burst into a fit of laughter, wiggling and thrashing to get away from Francis's fingers. His hands, still tangled in his shirt, swung down to push Francis away. 

"Ahahaha! F-Fran-hahaha, s-stop! Hahahaha!"

“Hon hon hon!” Francis laughed with a strangely dark grin on his face, “But you are enjoying my torture, _non_?” At no point did he give mercy in his assault. Arthur continued thrashing, managing to gasp out a few choice words between the laughter that spilled from his mouth.

After a while, Francis had mercy on the Brit and ended the tickling, instead dipping his head suddenly to lap at Arthur’s nipple, pinching the other lightly. “You are so cute when you laugh, you should do it more often,” Francis mumbled against Arthur’s chest. Arthur's laughter suddenly broke off as a surprised gasp left his mouth. Red faced and panting heavily from not receiving enough breath while laughing, Arthur shook his head.

"W-What reason do I have for laughing?"

“Well,” Francis hummed and traced around Arthur’s stomach with his fingertip, “Some people laugh in happiness... or perhaps you simply find something humorous. You laugh occasionally, I suppose, but it’s always with a, ah, a sarcastic edge to it. Usually if you find something funny you only give a smile or a small bark-like laugh, nothing giggly,” Francis pouted up at Arthur’s face, “Do I have to start tickling you more regularly?”

"You will not tickle me," Arthur huffed. "A-And I don't laugh the way you want me to because the Naval drilled it out of me. Laughter, they told me, is for dilly dallying idiots who have no right or discipline to serve or protect Her Majesty or our empire."

Francis snorted, “Well you don’t do either of those things now. I assure you that pirates laugh quite frequently, so you had better get used to it, _cheri_ or I WILL be tickling you!”

"You're forgetting I'm an ex-Naval captain," Arthur hummed. "I still have my British pride, pirate or not."

“British pride even as you lie beneath a French pirate captain being both tickled and ravished, completely at mercy to your desires?” Francis scoffed, “You should not hold onto such silly things in such situations _petit lapin_.”

Arthur made a face. "Hmm. True."

“ _Oui_ ,” Francis leaned up to lick Arthur’s neck deftly again before loosening both their pants and discarding them soon after. “You are far too cute for your own good, _lapin_. Roll over and raise your rear for me, it will help me go deeper, _non_?”

"Somehow now I feel like refusing," Arthur mumbled. "Only because we spoke about my goddamn pride." Still, the Englishman rolled over, his face red.

Francis chuckled and grabbed the oil he kept near his bed, coating his fingers with it before sliding two into the Englishman at once, “You stretch much easier these days, it truly speeds things up, _non_?” Arthur only groaned in response, slightly bucking against the fingers.

The Frenchman smiled and entered with his third finer, stretching them apart, then looked thoughtful, “I wonder just how far you stretch now, _lapin_...”

  
"D-Don't even try it frog!" Arthur snapped.

Francis hummed and after a moment slipped his pinky finger in as well, stretching a little more, “Hmm, well there’s a little resistance but...” he plunged the fingers deeper and traced the edge of the reddening hole with his thumb, “I DO wonder, _non_?”

Arthur let out a noise, fingers curling around the sheets. "F-Francis I said d-don't try it!"

Francis grinned and pressed slightly against the hole with his thumb, “But how will you know if you won’t like it, if we have not even tried it?”

Arthur shot him a glare over his shoulder. "I swear I'll find a way to cut you off from sex if you do."

Francis pouted, “Oh, but that’s hardly fair! You might even enjoy it! I’ve known several men who have...” Arthur gave him a look. Francis scoffed, “Fine!” he drew his fingers out and climbed up to align himself with Arthur’s hole, “You may be missing out, you know!”

"I highly doubt that," Arthur huffed.

Francis sighed and pressed inside, sighing again as the familiar tightness surrounded him. He built himself into a comfortable rhythm before smirking, “Are you sure you do not want to even try double penetration? I do have many dildos...”

Arthur blushed at the thought, moaning softly from the thrusts. "T-That sounds painful," he admitted.

Francis pouted, “Well we’d start with a thin one! Work our way up...” The Frenchman picked up speed and tried some deeper thrusting, “It would- nrg- ah...” he panted, “It would be w-wonderful if we w-went slow- Oh Arthur!”

Arthur moaned loudly, bucking back into Francis's thrusts. "A-Ah! I-I'll c-consider oh! C-consider it. Ngh, Francis!"

Francis grinned, “ _P-parfait_ \- oh...” his thrusts became erratic and he groped beneath Arhtur, grabbing hold of the Brit’s manhood and stroking it firmly to get him off faster.

Arthur let out a pleasured noise, spine arching. "Oh, oh, ah! F-Francis." Finally Francis let out a loud, long moan as he released, gripping Arthur tighter as he rode out his orgasm. Arthur released at the feeling of being filled, crying out loudly.

Francis panted, withdrawing and rolling next to Arthur, quickly pulling him in close. “I will keep in mind that you said we could try double penetration, _non?_ ”

"I said I'll consider it," Arthur mumbled. "Not that we can do it."

“Hon hon, as if you could deny me forever!” Francis laughed and buried his face into Arthur’s hair. Arthur scowled and cuddled closer to Francis.

After lying like that for a while, Francis finally cleared his throat slightly, “We should reach the next port in a day or two. After that... it will likely be a few weeks until we reach Italy.”

"Okay," Arthur sighed. It came back to bother him now, Peter's disappearance, and it stung.

Francis nodded, “I only thought you would like to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CH. 19 TRANSLATIONS
> 
> Andarsene! - (Italian) Go away
> 
> Vous n’obtiendrez rien de moi - (French) You will get nothing from me
> 
> Vous n'avez pas besoin de le prendre! A quoi bon peut-il vous apporter? - (French) You do not need to take it! What good can it do for you?


	20. Travelling

**Chapter 20~ Travelling**

Peter stretched, trying to shake the sleep from his limbs. He looked over to see Feliciano and Marcello still asleep, and Lovino trying to force himself to get up. It had been days since they left, and the routine they had created was uneventful. Get up early, eat whatever they had or could find from the surrounding forestry, which was only the occasional berry bush. Drive the cart on and watch out for any danger on the roads. They would stop again later in the afternoon for the daily siesta that none of the Italians seemed capable of missing. This left Peter to sit watch until they woke up and got back on the road. Then when night fell they'd stop and set up camp. Then the routine would start all over again the next day. Twice they had managed to out run a danger that had came their way, but Peter was afraid of the day their luck ran out. The young English boy sat up and picked up the jacket he had been using as a pillow. He walked over to the small fire they had actually managed to make the night before and sad near the dead embers. Noticing Lovino finally sitting up, Peter nodded at him.

"Morning," Peter greeted Lovino.

The eldest Italian grunted in reply and stumbled over to the fire, searching through the bag beside it. “We’re running out of traveller’s bread,” he commented grudgingly, “We’d better pass a town soon.” He looked at Peter, “Well go wake up the other two then, bastard!” he snapped. Peter was well aware by now that Lovino was far from a morning person.

Peter only stood up, slipping on the jacket. He walked over to Marcello and Feliciano. It only took a small well placed hard nudge to wake up Marcello and Peter would have to shake and shove Feliciano awake. Occasionally with Marcello's help, but once Feliciano awoke, he was up and bouncing around like the morning bird he was. Peter only shook his head, trying to block out Lovino as the older Italian yelled at Feliciano for hugging him too happily. Marcello helped Peter collect whatever they had used to sleep and packed it away.

Lovino and Feliciano helped load their belongings onto their cart and Feliciano patted their horse who had gotten enough rest and water from a nearby stream to be refreshed for the new day’s journey. Lovino quickly broke up the traveller’s bread and handed the pieces to Marcello and Peter first, then Feliciano.

Feliciano looked at Lovino for a moment and then frowned in confusion. “Why are you not eating, _fratello_?”

Lovino snorted, “I’m not hungry, stupid. Now get on the cart.”

Peter didn't believe the eldest Italian, but to offer a piece of his own bread would probably be a blow to Lovino's pride. Silently, Peter and Marcello climbed into the back cart together, both nibbling away on their bread pieces.

Finally the cart began moving along the path again. Feliciano looked giddily at the passing trees.

“I cannot wait to see _Nonno_!” Feliciano said suddenly, “It’s been so long, I hope he remembers us!”

“Of course he remembers us _idiota_!” Lovino snapped, “That’s why Marcello came after us!”

Feliciano pouted, “Well, we grew up, didn’t we? We’re older now, what if he doesn’t recognise us?”

Lovino snorted, “Well your dumb look never changed.”

“Lovi, that’s mean!” Feliciano whined.

"Don't worry _Fratello_ ~!" Marcello chirped brightly. " _Nonno_ will know which is you and which is Lovino when you both try to clean!"

Lovino’s head snapped around and he grinned at Marcello with a crazy gleam in his eyes, “And what, exactly, is THAT suppose to mean?”

"Th-That you're really amazing at cleaning _Fratello_!" Marcello laughed nervously.

Lovino smirked, “That’s right,” the eldest Italian turned back to the front and they continued for a few seconds.

Then Feliciano turned to Lovino, “But, I thought you broke something every time you cleaned i- OW! L-Loviiiii....” Feliciano cried and nursed the new bruise on his head that Lovino had delivered with his smacking-hand.

Marcello placed a soothing hand on Feliciano's back, scooting closer toward his brothers. "But Feli~! You always got distracted while cleaning!" Marcello laughed.

Lovino grinned, “Yeah, remember how you made _nonno_ furious when you painted a mustache on the painting of his brother while cleaning the hall? I think that’s the only time he ever really yelled at you...”

Feliciano winced, “ _S-si_ , I remember. But he stocked the house with more blank canvases and paint after that!”

Lovino scowled, “Yeah, yeah I know.”

" _Fratelli,_ do you remember the huge tree in the back of the house?" Marcello asked. "The one we used to bury things under in hopes that the tree will grow to become something different, like a pasta tree or a tree that grew toys?"

Feliciano laughed, “ _Si, si_! I remember! I planted so much pasta under that tree but it never grew any...”

Lovino snorted, “I still can’t believe you both believed me when I told you that.”

Feliciano looked at Lovino wide eyed, “But... you buried things too _fratello_!”

Lovino shook his head, “Only to make you believe me, I knew tomatoes don’t grow on trees, idiot.”

Feliciano pouted, “But I saw you! I saw you planting once when you didn’t think we were around!”

Lovino stiffened, “W-what? That’s stupid... why would I do that? You were dreaming.”

“No! I saw you!” Feliciano insisted, “You were planting something! A big bag, I didn’t dig it up though, you planted it reaaaaally deep!”

Lovino glared, “Shut UP Feli! You’re giving me a headache!”

Marcello smiled then teasingly said, "Aw _Fratello,_ embarrassed of being caught doing a so called 'childish' act?"

“I-I said shut up!” Lovino snapped and then stewed for a while before sighing, “Er... something like that...” Marcello only laughed in response, and Peter had to hide his smile behind his hand.

Suddenly, Lovino’s head snapped up and he started looking around into the trees wildly. Feliciano had stiffened as well and was shaking, looking around as Lovino was.

“Lovi, do you think?” Feliciano whispered.

Lovino nodded and Peter noticed Lovino urging the horse to move faster at a steady rate. The young English boy looked around as well, searching for the slightest indication of danger. Marcello, sensing the mood, became nervous and tense.

Then Peter saw, just a glimpse, a brown shirt sleeve flashing back behind a tree trunk. By this time the horse was near a canter, but was forced to rear back and halt when five men armed with swords charged onto the road in front of them, wielding their weapons and smiling widely. Feliciano screamed.

“DON’T HURT US! WE SURRENDER! WE SURRENDER!” Feliciano wailed, waving a white flag he had gotten from who knows where. Lovino smacked him on the head.

“ _Idiota!_ ” he snarled and then continued in Spanish to the men since that is what they likely spoke, “ _Wh-what do you bastards want?”_ As he spoke, Peter looked behind them and saw another five men approaching from behind. They’d ridden into a bandit’s trap.

The man who appears to be the leader grinned and replied, “ _We want anything of value you’ve got, and then we’re going to sell you four as slaves! A pretty set of Italians like you will set us up drunk for months! Though we might just play with you ourselves first.”_

Lovino grimaced and shook his head. “ _Not a chance bastard!_ ” He turned to Feliciano. “Get your daggers, NOW, pass something to the kids,” then Lovino jumped up and landed on the horse, holding a sword in his hands. “OUT OF MY WAY!” The eldest Italian screamed and kicked the horse, sending it into a gallop straight at the bandits, brandishing his sword at any who tried to harm the creature as it carried the cart through. Meanwhile Feliciano had handed daggers quickly to Peter and Marcello before sending one strike across the hand of a bandit that had grabbed at the cart. The bandit screamed and let go.

Peter immediately sprung into action, the familiarity of chaos coming to him as he swiped at a bandit who had lunged forward. Peter grazed him lightly, but the graze was enough to make him falter momentarily as Peter rolled out of the way. Marcello struck out, dagger managing to slash across another's cheek. The two boys pressed against each other, back to back, to offer both coverage and support as they held off the attackers as best they could.

Lovino finally managed to get the horse passed the front line of bandits, though a few still managed to grab the sides of the cart. Feliciano drove his dagger into the arms of as many as he could, but then gasped, screamed, and fell to his knees as the sword of one bandit slashed through his arm. When Lovino twisted and saw this he became red in rage and leapt back from the horse to the cart, wielding his sword like a mad man as he sliced through the bandit’s throat, effectively sending him off the speeding cart to die on the road. The other bandits tried to follow, but none could outrun the horse and Lovino waited until they were long out of sight before slowing to a trot and hoping the horse had enough energy to keep going until they found a place they could hide themselves for the night.

Feliciano, meanwhile, was panting in the back of the cart, his brothers having helped him wrap some clothes around the wound but truly he needed medical attention before he became infected. Lovino didn’t know what to do. He had no idea how far the nearest town was, but he could not drive the horse through the night- it needed food, water and rest just as they all did. He supposed they would simply have to find a stream to wash Feliciano’s arm in and pray.

Peter gripped Feliciano's arm tightly, hoping the pressure would stop, or at least slow down, the blood loss. Marcello clung to his brother, feverishly repeating prayers in Italian. The two boys feared for Feliciano just as much as Lovino did, but they, just like Lovino, were unsure of the outcome.

“Marcello, feel Feli’s forehead every few minutes. The moment you feel a fever, tell me,” Lovino instructed as he looked around for any sign of running water.

" _S-Si Fratello_ ," Marcello agreed shakily. Peter's grip tightened as Feliciano's eyes began to droop slightly.

"Marcello don't let him fall asleep," Peter instructed. "With the amount of blood he's losing at such a fast pace, he might not wake up again." Frightened, Marcello began harshly smacking Feliciano.

"No sleeping!"

"Not so hard!" Peter said sharply, wincing when Feliciano yelped from the stinging slaps. "Just, ugh! Don't let him sleep!"

Feliciano whimpered, “B-but, I’m tired...”

“FELICIANO IF YOU GO TO SLEEP I’M COMING BACK THERE AND RIPPING OUT ALL YOUR HAIR!” Lovino screeched. Feliciano gasped and shuddered.

“N-no, I like my hair where it is...” Feliciano mumbled.

Feliciano wavered close to unconsciousness for nearly half an hour before Lovino heard running water and urged the horse to get closer. There was a stream nearby- it wasn’t much, but it was enough to wash Feliciano’s wound and keep them hydrated.

“Damn,” Lovino swore once Feliciano had been laid out in a clearing behind the trees where they’d hidden their cart. The middle Italian brother had had his bandages re-wrapped and his wound cleaned, and had been given a long drink of water, but even so he seemed to have developed a fever and was panting.

“ _F-fratello_ , I’m still thirsty,” Feliciano said weakly. Lovino nodded and filled the water skin again, giving it to his brother before turning to Peter and Marcello.

“I...” the eldest Italian’s voice lowered, “We need to keep the camp safe. We can’t have a fire tonight or we’ll be seen from the road. I want at least one of you keeping watch at all times since I need to take care of Feli. Got it?”

"Understood," Peter nodded, looking determined. Marcello nodded as well, trying to copy Peter's attitude.

"Cello, I'll take the first watch," Peter assured, smiling reassuringly at the youngest Italian. Marcello nodded thankfully.

Lovino nodded as well, but a little absently as he looked back at Feliciano. “Right... right, so, Marcello. Don’t wander too far, but if you see any mushrooms or berries we can eat- remember what _Nonno_ taught you when you see them, collect them in this.” Lovino handed him a pouch, “We don’t really have enough food otherwise. I... I wish I knew what wild herbs cured a fever...” he shook his head, “Never mind, just go.”

Marcello nodded and stood up. Peter did the same and followed Marcello to the edge of the clearing. Marcello glanced back only once and then slipped into the foliage, not going in too far though. Peter stood watch, his dagger firmly in his grasp as his blue eyes swept the forest.

As they did this, Lovino kept close watch over Feliciano, dabbing at his forehead with a wet cloth.

“L-Lovi, um, I-I’m going to be okay... _si_?”

“Damn it,” Lovino glared, “Of course you will! Don’t ask stupid questions! Y-you’ll be fine, just... just rest, don’t move too much and keep drinking water when I give it to you! You’ve lost a lot of blood... I-I think we stopped it bleeding in time but you need to replenish it and... and stay hydrated.”

Feliciano smiled at his big brother, “Okay, _fratello_. I believe you!”

Marcello continued along through the undergrowth, searching for anything edible. "Find anything?" Peter called out. Marcello straightened up and glanced over at Peter.

"No."

Peter sighed and watched Marcello disappear again. The youngest Italian continued shuffling on, unaware that he was steadily getting farther away. He frowned, worried for Feliciano and frustrated that he could not provide anything for his brothers and friend. Marcello sat down on the forest floor, eyes steadily growing watery. He wiped his eyes, not wanting anyone to see him cry. The sound of something softly rolling on the ground made Marcello look down. A berry was there on the floor before him. Amazed, Marcello picked it up. Another berry rolled toward him. Marcello followed the berry's trail from where it came, eyes meeting similar ones.

Gutpa rolled another berry toward him then pointed behind Marcello. The boy turned, and to his irritation, saw the berry bush. Marcello turned back to Gutpa, wary of the man's next movements. Gupta only stood up and began walking away. Marcello smiled slightly, and then threw himself at the bush, eagerly collecting the berries.

Peter's eyes shot toward the rustling. It was a bit far off, and it made Peter nervous. "Cello?" Instead of the Italian boy, Gutpa popped up from the undergrowth. Peter blinked, and then rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Gutpa turned to face Peter, the two of them surveying each other. At last, Peter decided to speak, his voice loud enough to carry over to where the other was.

"Gutpa? Are you...alone?" Gutpa nodded. Marcello popped up through the bushes, next to Gutpa.

"I found some food!" Marcello called. This made Peter smile.

"Great! Come on back then." Marcello nodded and took Gutpa's hand. Although surprised, Gutpa let the Italian boy lead him through the bushes and over to where Peter was. "I think I got enough," Marcello hummed happily. "It's not much, but it's enough."

Peter poked the pouch swollen with berries. "I think it'll be fine," Peter assured. "They're edible, right?"

" _Si_."

Peter nodded then nodded over to their camp. "Go check in with your brother then, and show him our guest." Marcello nodded and pulled Gupta, still trying to keep his face blank despite the bits of confusion that showed on it, toward his brothers.

Lovino was on his feet and pointing his sword in an instant when he saw his youngest brother hand in hand with a strange man. Feliciano wasn’t in a state to even notice there was anything wrong, but the eldest Italian looked murderous.

“Get your hands off my _fratello_!” Lovino demanded, “Marcello! Who the hell is this?!”

"It's okay," Marcello assured. " _Fratello_ this is Gutpa, the man I told you about." Gutpa very carefully reached into his robes, freezing when Lovino threatened him with the sword.

"I'm disarming myself," he said in a quiet voice. He ignored Lovino and pulled out knives. He dropped them to the side then bent low and pulled a dagger out of his shoe and tossed it with the other knives. He kicked them away then straightened up and faced Lovino, hands raised to show he meant no harm.

Lovino lowered his sword partially, but did not dare drop it. “Gutpa? He’s the... lesser bastard that kidnapped you, right? What’s he doing here?”

"I....don't know," Marcello admitted. "But he helped me find berries to eat so I sorta brought him along."

Lovino frowned sharply and his eyes locked with the Egyptian’s. “Well? What are you doing here, bastard?” He froze as he heard Feliciano cough and ask for water again. “D-damn it. J-just a second, Feli,” Lovino said, not taking his eyes from Gupta.

Gupta's eyes lowered, landing on Feliciano. "Is he sick?" Gutpa asked quietly, nodding toward Feliciano.

Lovino shivered. “He... _s-si_. We... ran into some bandits on the road and one slashed through his arm. We bandaged it, but he lost a lot of blood and it got infected... and he has a fever...” Lovino trailed off and cleared his throat, wiping his eyes quickly as if speed would hide the action. “Not that it’s your business. Damn it, unless... d-do you know how far the next village is?”

"A two day's walk," Gutpa replied, still looking at Feliciano. "A day and a half with a cart." His amber eyes flickered over to the cart, and then looked at Lovino. "Did you give him herbs to stop the pain and fight infection?"

Lovino bit his lip before answering. “I... don’t really know... I-I mean...” the Italian glared, “I would have, but I couldn’t find any that would help, okay?!”

Gutpa blinked, and then pointed over his shoulder. "There were some just right there."

Lovino sputtered, “W-well I didn’t see, I-I mean... w-where exactly?” he asked with a small frown.

"Back by the root of the tree over there," Gutpa said turning and pointing. "And you know how to apply it, right?" By now, Gutpa assumed that they did not know or understand herbs.

Lovino flinched slightly. “Of course I- er...” he looked back at Feliciano who was coughing again. The Italian flushed and seemed to visibly swallow his pride. “I... don’t.” He shivered. “I don’t know how... I... I assume you do, bastard?” Lovino snapped, straightening quickly.

Gupta nodded. He reached into his robes again and pulled out a small bag. He handed it to Lovino, and then turned to Marcello. "Help me pick the other roots." Marcello nodded and gripped Gutpa's sleeve. The two began walking back toward the forest, Marcello eager. Gutpa blinked, as if remembering, then turned around.

"It's for the fever," Gutpa explained, pointing to the bag still in Lovino's hands. "Chew or mash it to a paste, then have him eat it. Mixing it with berries will help it taste better." Marcello quickly undid the berry-filled pouch and held it out for Lovino to take.

Lovino did take the berries as if in a daze, but seemed to come to himself quickly. “No! Marcello, don’t you dare leave with him! We have no idea if he actually wants to help! You stay where I can see you!” He turned to Gutpa and glared. “I don’t trust you. At all. But... but I’m desperate and if I don’t Feli might... might anyway...” Lovino couldn’t finish the sentence, and so went on anyway. “I’m giving him this only because of that. But if this makes it worse then... then I’ll kill you! Mark my words!”

Gutpa turned slightly, pulling his sleeve out of Marcello's grip. "I understand," he said softly, then turned and continued walking on. Marcello looked from Gutpa to Lovino.

Lovino shivered again but then quickly found a flat rock near the stream and poured some medicine out with the berries, quickly working on mashing the two together until a paste could be made. Lacking a proper bowl, he scooped the paste into his hands and hurried to his brother. “Marcello, get Feli’s head into your lap, he can’t eat lying flat like that! And... and Peter, you keep watching! If anyone’s coming... a-and that includes that bastard who was just here, let me know!”

Marcello rushed to obey Lovino, gently picking up Feliciano's head and delicately placing it on his lap. Peter simply nodded. Marcello watched Lovino feed Feliciano the pulp-like paste in his hands. Feliciano refused it at first, softly wining about the smell of it. So Lovino had pinched his cheek, successfully opening Feliciano's mouth, and began to tip the mixture in. Peter watched from a distance, then turned back to watch Gutpa. He was silently up digging the herbs that he had told Lovino about. It seemed almost sad that he was alone, but Peter didn't go to help him.

Feliciano finished the paste and pouted in distaste, but Lovino covered his mouth until he had swallowed all of it. Lovino nodded grimly. “How do you feel, bastard?”

“Th-thirsty...” Feliciano rasped.

Lovino nodded and grabbed the water skin, helping Feliciano to drink more. “I-I don’t know how long to wait for the paste to work... if it will work but... you have to hold on, okay?”

“O-okay Lovi...” Feliciano said softly.

"He any better?" Peter blinked and looked back at Gutpa. He had stopped digging, and was simply staring at the ground.

"Is it that quick?" Peter asked in surprise.

"No, but it does immediately make it easier for him to breath so he's not panting so much," Gutpa shrugged then continued digging again. Peter watched him for a bit longer, and then finally decided to voice the question in his head.

"Why are you here Mr. Gutpa?"

To this, Gutpa faintly smiled. "Hassen. Gutpa Muhammad Hassen."

"Mr. Hassen?" Peter repeated. "Why are you here?"

"Going home to Egypt," he replied, standing up with a handful of what looked like leaves to Peter in his hand. He brushed dirt from his robe with his free hand while Peter turned and announced that Gutpa was coming back.

Lovino jumped slightly at this, but quickly nodded and stood. He seemed adamant not to turn his back on the Egyptian as they approached with the leaves. “He... he’s slightly better... I-I think, um... b-but I still don’t trust you! W-what did you get this time?”

"It's for any pain he might be having," Gutpa said calmly, unaffected by Lovino's behavior. "I would prefer giving it to him as a tea, but if that's not an option then we can simply give them to him to chew on."

“I can’t boil water, a fire will be seen... here, I’ll give him the leaves,” Lovino took them from Gutpa and held them out to Feliciano who fought to focus on them. “Th-they’re for the pain, stupid. Just chew on them.”

Feliciano nodded and opened his mouth, but once inside he quickly spit them out again. “Ah! B-bitter...”

“Just chew them, damn it!” Lovino stuffed them into Feliciano’s mouth again and covered his lips, “Y-you have to, damn it, it’s for the pain! Just... just... please!” His voice cracked, and Feliciano’s eyes widened before he winced and dutifully began to chew. Gutpa nodded and sat down, digging through his robes again.

"How big are your pockets?" Marcello asked in amazement as Gutpa took out a small gourd.

"Large enough," the Egyptian replied, uncapping it and taking a drink from it. He put it away and then looked up at Lovino. "Once those start to take effect, I will go and get the herbs for infection that I have with my other things."

Lovino frowned. “Other things... w-where is your camp set up anyway, bastard? Y-you’re alone, right?”

"Yes I'm alone," Gutpa nodded. "And my camp's set a bit away from here."

“I-I see,” Lovino frowned, “B-but you WERE with someone else... w-what happened to the other bastard?”

Gutpa looked away, his face draining of any emotion. "I don't know or care. So long as he's far away from me."

Lovino’s angry expression dropped, slightly. “I-I see. Er... y-you... left him, or did he leave you?”

"Does it matter?" Gutpa huffed, slight anger leaking onto his face. "Sadiq is gone, that's all that matters."

“It... doesn’t,” Lovino snorted, but wouldn’t look at Gutpa, “I don’t care anyway. If... if you’re getting medicine for Feli, go get it already!”

Gutpa stood up without another word and left. Peter watched his retreating back, looking slightly worried. "I think we hurt his feelings," Peter said.

Lovino growled and turned back to Feliciano, dabbing at his forehead with a wet cloth. “I don’t care. He DID help kidnap you, whatever he’s doing now or however he felt about it at the time. He can’t expect me to trust him after that. Maybe... m-maybe if he really helps Feli but... not now.”

"True," Peter mumbled. Still the small Briton couldn't shake the feeling that Gutpa was hurt somehow. Time passed and Gutpa returned, carrying a heavy pack on is back. He set the pack down and began to rummage through it.

Lovino watched Gutpa warily as he grabbed several more herbs and began to mash and mix a paste in a small bowl. “S-so this will help the infection?” the Italian asked quietly after a while.

"Yes," Gutpa replied. "I'll have to put it on the bare wound though."

Lovino frowned, but did nod. “O-okay...” he turned to Feliciano and stroked back some of the hair plastered to his forehead. “I... I need to unwrap your arm to put medicine on it, okay?”

Feliciano looked up at his brother and nodded, very slowly. Lovino breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that Feliciano was at least focusing on him properly now, so what they’d done so far hadn’t been for nothing. He carefully unwrapped the clothes they’d used as bandages and winced as a putrid smell filled the air. Indeed, the wound was infected. Lovino turned wide eyes to Gutpa, looking rather helpless.

Gutpa frowned. "We're going to have to clean it out." He picked pulled out the gourd from before, took a rag and another knife from his pack. "Cut off the loose skin around it," Gutpa said, handing the knife to Lovino. "I need to clean away inside it. The more pain he's in the better, because it means he'll live." Gutpa took a few more of the leftover pain herbs and held them out Lovino to give to Feliciano. "He's probably going to want these."

Lovino nodded and gave the herbs to his brother carefully before bringing the knife to Feliciano’s arm. The younger Italian flushed and screamed slightly, nearly breaking Lovino’s heart as he had to slap the boy and tell him that if he didn’t keep still and quiet the knife would be used on his throat. Feliciano gulped and stilled, tears in his eyes as he whimpered. Lovino cut into the loose skin, slicing it away. Once done, he looked at Gutpa worriedly as blood flowed, “H-hurry, w-we need to re-wrap it...”

Gupta dumped the liquid from the gourd onto the rag and roughly cleaned the bleeding flesh around it and in the wound. He scooped up a handful of the paste and spread it in. Once the task was done, Gutpa nodded. "There, it should help stop the bleeding as well, but still re-wrap it."

Lovino quickly did this, and then sighed, “H-how do you feel, _fratello_?”

Feliciano bit his lip. “H-hurts... but... I-I think I will be okay. Wh-who is...” his wide eyes turned to Gutpa.

"Gutpa," Gutpa answered. "I'm Gutpa."

“Oh,” Feliciano blinked, and then smiled brightly, “ _Grazie_ , Gutpa!”

Gutpa blinked then faintly smiled back. "Just get better."

“ _Si_ ,” Feliciano nodded and sighed, leaning into Marcello’s small lap, “I’m tired... can I sleep yet?”

Lovino frowned and glanced at Gutpa for confirmation. Even if he protested against the Egyptian, he was beginning to trust the man’s judgement over his own, at least in this instance.

"Yes," Gutpa nodded, gently lowering his voice to a soft and soothing tone. "Sleep, we'll be here when you wake up."

Feliciano nodded and closed his eyes. Lovino sighed deeply and leaned against a tree. “I... I guess I should thank you too so... _g-grazie_ ,” the Italian mumbled and flushed. “I-if you hadn’t come then... then we would...” Lovino shook his head, “A-anyway, I... appreciate it.”

Gutpa nodded in understanding, and drank from the gourd. "What is that?" Marcello asked curiously.

"Something kids shouldn't drink," Gutpa replied after swallowing. Peter blinked, tilting his head.

"Whiskey?" he guessed, sniffing. Gutpa raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Lovino with a look that clearly asked for an explanation as to how Peter knew what whiskey smelled like.

“Don’t ask me, bastard, I didn’t raise that one at all,” Lovino snapped, gesturing to Peter absently.

Gutpa shook his head and put the gourd away. "So why are you four running?" Gutpa asked.

Lovino snorted, “Well, uh, our grandfather’s sick so we’re going to go see him in Italy. My... captain...” he winced, “Didn’t want us to go, so we had to sneak out. They know where we’re going though, so they’ll probably try to meet up with us. Feli and Peter are going to go back with them, but I’m going to stay to take care of _Nonno_ with Marcello. Not that it’s your business, since you didn’t tell us why you were running.”

"I'm running from Sadiq, my partner," Gutpa answered. "I got sick of him and the way he was, so I left."

Lovino froze. “And... do you think he’ll try to find you?”

"No," Gutpa said, his voice sad and distant. He bowed is had, the sides of his keffiyeh shading his face. "He won't...I know he won't."

Lovino paused, and then sighed. “Well... I guess you had some fight then. Whatever, good riddance to the kidnapping bastard. So you’re going back to Egypt, I guess you’ve got family there?”

"I'm going back to Egypt to hopefully start a new life and maybe a family someday," Gutpa sighed, looking back up with his face smooth and composed.

Lovino nodded absently, looking back at Feliciano and Marcello, the latter of whom was paying close attention to their conversation apparently. “Yeah... that sounds nice.” Lovino smirked. “Hey Marcello, you’re looking forward to marrying a nice girl and having a ton of kids, _si_?” The youngest Italian blushed, and then laughed.

" _Si_ ~!" Marcello joked, his tone light with a hint of shyness. "I can't wait to meet my future wife! I hope she's nice~!" Peter snorted, turning away in attempt to hide his smile. Gutpa looked at Marcello, his eyes warm and filled with hints of laughter.

Lovino grinned, just for a moment, before sighing, “ _Nonno_ better fucking appreciate us going through all this trouble to go see him. N-not that I’m not happy about it! I’ve been looking for an excuse to get away from that Spanish bastard since he kidnapped us!”

"Truly or do you just tell yourself that," Gutpa questioned. Marcello and Peter both looked on interest, although neither expected a real answer.

Lovino’s cheeks immediately turned dark red. “W-what kind of question is that? O-of course I don’t just tell myself that! I tried everything to escape that bastard, but then he started threatening to do what he did to me, to Feli, a-and when the chance to leave came up, _mio fratello_ wanted to stay! I-I couldn’t leave him there alone with that Spanish bastard, s-so I stayed. A-and then he starts dating that macho potato bastard! But I guess... I guess I can’t really stop him going back to him now, damn it but...” Lovino frowned sharply, “I need to take care of _Nonno_. Feliciano can’t do that, so he might as well go back. I’m not. I-I’m never going b-“ Lovino’s voice broke, suddenly, and the young man’s eyes widened considerably. He quickly looked away and rubbed at his face, trying to look irritated but just looking rather miserable.

Feliciano slumbered on, not knowing his brother’s distress.

Marcello reached out toward his brother, his eyes filled with worry and a sad look on his face. "Fratello...." Gutpa sighed, giving Lovino a knowing look.

Lovino took several deep breaths befire raising his head. “A-anyway I... i-it’s not as if there’s a choice. E-even if _Nonno_ wasn’t around, I’d need to take care of Marcello... n-not that I mind that obviously!” The eldest Italian huffed and looked at Marcello. “You are my youngest brother, and I will make sure you have a decent fucking life, no matter what I have to do for you to have it! B-but... yeah, it’s not... I have to stay. I can’t go back to... him... ever. H-he knows... w-we both know... that...”

" _Fratello_ ," Marcello sniffed, his eyes growing watery. Peter snorted bitterly, drawing the attention toward him.

"It'll hurt you both," Peter said quietly, his eyes focused on the floor. "You, because you'll live with regret Lovino, but you can move on. Marcello may reap the benefits of your sacrifice, but not a day will go by that he doesn't live in secret guilt that he's ruined everything for you. The two of you could act for years, pretend you’re both not in pain when you are. Trust me, I know what it feels like when someone sacrifices everything for you. Did you know Arthur actually wanted to be a writer? I took away that dream and that chance by being born, by making him feel like he needed to make my life better than his. It's painful to look at the opportunities that they let slip past, only because you were in the way. Sacrifices always bring guilt. Giving up the man you love for Marcello to have a normal life, it'll hurt you forever."

Lovino’s hands clenched and he looked away. “Who the hell asked you? A-and I don’t love that pirate bastard! I don’t! And... and...” the eldest Italian laughed, perhaps a little bitterly, “It was your own brother who told me not long ago the sacrifice of a happy family is the eldest child. He’s right, he’s right... though I can’t expect you to understand, you’re too young,” Lovino sighed.

"Yeah, I know," Peter sighed. "Too young, too young, but do people ever asked the young if the choices the elders make hurts them? If it makes them grow up? I don't know, maybe I'm just thinking too much into this, maybe it's just me." The young Briton crossed his arms and sighed again.

Lovino shook his head and then looked hard at Marcello. “I would not be throwing my life away for you. You will grow up, go to school, get a job and a family. I will get a job, find a nice girl and settle down as well. Just because it’s not Antonio, doesn’t mean I can’t be happy damn it! N-not that he made me happy... damn it he...” Lovino shook his head again. “It will be fine. We’ll move on. This was my choice, not yours, and we’ll all just... we’ll all just fucking deal with it! Got it?!”

Marcello blinked, confused and unsure as he looked from Peter to Lovino. He bit his bottom lip and nodded to Lovino, wary of the possible future that Peter had described. "O-Okay _Fratello_." Marcello turned to Peter, but the boy had already left, halfway to his abandoned post. The young Italian furrowed his eyebrows, wondering exactly how much of the pain that Peter felt that he had tried to protect him from. Marcello sighed and yelled out, " _Grazie_ Peter!"

Peter made a weird thumbs signal over his head, something Marcello decided to take as an affirmative. Gutpa hummed and then sighed.

After a while, Lovino’s stomach growled and he cursed. “I-I forgot dinner... Marcello, do you think you could get more berries? I used most of the ones you brought to get Feli to take his medicine...”

"Sure," Marcello nodded, sifting slowly in attempts to smoothly slide Feliciano's head off his lap. Gutpa began digging in his pack again.

"I can share my food as well," Gutpa offered. "If you don't mind having me over to eat with you."

Lovino hesitated for a moment, but finally gave a small nod as he looked out into the trees. “W-whatever,” he said, finally.

"Um, Fratello, can you take Feli so I can go get more berries?" Marcello asked.

“Huh? Oh, _si_ ,” Lovino nodded quickly and moved over to his brothers, taking Feliciano into his arms and laying the middle Italian’s head in his own lap. Feliciano mumbled in his sleep and turned onto his side, burrowing his face into Lovino’s stomach. The eldest Italian flushed and sighed, threading his fingers through his brother’s hair absently. “You’re such a kid, _fratello_ ,” he muttered softly.

Marcello stood up and stretched. Once his joints cracked and he was happily beaming, Marcello picked up the discarded pouch and ran off to get more berries.

After a few minutes, Lovino looked up at Gutpa again. “So how’d you end up with a prick like that... that guy you were with anyway? I mean... you don’t seem like such a... not as much of a bastard as I thought at first... you know...”

Gutpa shrugged. "He and I have known each other for years. I was born in Egypt, and lived there for awhile, but I moved to Turkey and I met Sadiq. He was loud and brash, and I envied him for those qualities. Somehow we began friends and we only grew closer. He convinced me to run away with him and a Greek friend we had. We did, but Sadiq and our friend always fought, so Heracles went to France. Sadiq and I struggled to make a living. The usual stealing, begging, small jobs we could get anywhere. The one day he got into his head to own a ship and become a pirate. By then I was so deeply in love with him, I was willing to do anything for him, even if we were in a more one-sided love. Well, then he hatched the plan to kidnap children. I love children, they're so sweet and innocent, they usually don't judge. Well, one thing led to another, and before I knew it I was running away from him." Gutpa looked at Lovino seriously. "I never meant any harm to come to any of the children, I swear."

Lovino sighed and stretched his back slightly. “Well... I might be an idiot for saying it but... I believe you. And... hey at least you’re away from him now, right bastard?” He grinned slightly.

A faint smile spread across Gutpa's face and he nodded. "Thank you."

Marcello finally returned and Lovino gently nudge Feliciano awake so he could eat something. Taking only a small handful of berries for himself, Lovino went to the edge of the clearing to relieve Peter.

“Hey,” Lovino whispered, nudging the boy in the ribs, “Go eat with the others, I’ll keep watch for a while, _si_?”

Peter looked up and nodded. "Alright."

He walked back to the others as Gutpa pulled out bread from his pack. Marcello smiled up at Peter as he sat down. The bread was broken and passed out, Gutpa took a piece over to Lovino, and the berries separated. Marcello helped Feliciano eat. It was fine, and everyone seemed content at the moment.

 


	21. A Random Excuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pain of my readers does not move me. I am evil. Though to remind you all, this was originally a role play between myself and another person and I've been editing but there's really only a few more chapters before I'm actually going to write from scratch and so, while it is now the summer and I might be able to get these last chapters up it's a bit, um.... difficult... ah... whatever

**Chapter 21 – A Random Excuse**

The port in Portugal was a thriving little community, and Arthur could only think ‘picturesque’ as a word to describe it. The houses were set close to cliffs on the shoreline, most shining bright white or pale yellow against a perfect blue sky, reflected by the deep blue of the water that lapped against the white beach in even waves. Francis had insisted that everyone ought to spend the day on the beach so as to relax while the sailors had a day off. The captains may wish desperately to reach Peter and the Italians, but that didn’t mean all their crewmembers shared the sentiment and without a day off in a town like this they would likely become upset quickly. Every captain knows how vital it is to maintain favour with the crew after all.

Arthur understood this. He was fine with this. It could not be helped and he agreed some time on the beach could be fun. Being at sea left little chance for actually playing in the water. There was, however, one problem.

Leave it to Francis to pick out a nudist beach.

“Hon hon hon!” Francis laughed as he laid out completely naked on the sand, his muscles and manhood on view to the public. Though for once only some ogling women were turning their heads toward him, as he was hardly standing out. Apart from the legions of native and tourist nude sunbathers and swimmers, also on the beach were Gilbert who seemed perfectly at ease playing in the water with his companions. Matthew who seemed rather red as he played with Gilbert (though it could be a sunburn, Arthur guessed it was not). Ludwig who also seemed at ease as he watched the two in the water to make sure Gilbert didn’t get too handsy and got them thrown off the beach (public sex still being forbidden there). Antonio who did not seem upset to be naked but was still sulking about the loss of Lovino under the shade of a small tent that had been set up for that purpose. Miguel who was working on coaxing Antonio into the sunlight. Then there was Ivan, who was standing fully clothed complete with scarf in the blazing sun as he watched Alfred run around nude in the water trying to pull Gilbert off of Matthew.

Arthur sighed. Well, at least since there were other tourists, no one was gawking at his obvious white tan lines. Though he could swear he was forgetting something...

“BREASTS, DA ZEE!”

Oh right. Yong-Soo had come too. Naked as the day he was born he tackled Arthur from behind and grabbed his chest, “COME SWIM WITH ME, DA ZEE!” Francis seemed to find Arthur’s distressed face hilarious.

"YONG-SOO!" Arthur screeched loudly, face immediately heating up. The English man lashed out again, quickly struggling to get out of Yong-Soo's grip. "Let go! Let go! Let go!"

“NOT UNTIL YOU COME SWIM, DA ZEE!” Yong Soo screamed happily, still groping away. Francis was in peals of laughter. Luckily Arthur was a man, so while he found Yong-Soo’s... ‘affections’ obscene the rest of the beach goers didn’t jump to that conclusion.

“What is the matter, Arthur?” Francis teased, “He only wants to swim with you~”

"He's GROPING me!" Arthur snapped. "Fine! Yong-Soo, stop! I'll go, I'll go!"

“As long as he does not grope lower, it is fine by me!” Francis giggled as Yong Soo cheered and grabbed Arthur’s hand instead, dragging him to the ocean.

“Let’s go splash those guys, da zee!” Yong-Soo said excitedly pointing at Gilbert, Alfred and Matthew.

Arthur glared, red faced and grumbling grumpily as he allowed Yong-Soo to pull him. Alfred was the first to notice them. He smiled and waved, momentarily forgetting the other two as he jumped up and down waving. "Hi Dad! Hi Yong-Soo!"

Yong-Soo grinned and half-ran, half-floated through the water to reach Alfred and jumped up happily. “Good to see you, da zee! Um... h-how are my brothers doing?” he asked in a quieter voice.

"Yao's alright," Alfred replied, just as quiet. "Your twin...well, he's not so happy."

Arthur trudged through the water, frowning when he realized it was higher upon him than everyone else when he stood with the others because of his height. "Damn it."

Yong-Soo shivered slightly. “Yeah I... kind of expected that, da zee...”

Matthew smiled and worked his way over the newcomers as well. “Hello Arthur, Yong-Soo,” the Canadian said politely.

“ARTIE!” Gilbert grinned, coming over and smacking the man on the back, “Good to see you out here, not cowering on the shore with clothes on like SOME FILTHY ASSHOLES!” Gilbert shouted at Ivan who merely shrugged in response. Matthew winced, but since he was currently having another truce with Alfred about his brother’s current ‘love interest’ he didn’t say anything for or against Gilbert’s behaviour and hoped Alfred would ignore Gilbert’s outbursts as well. Alfred only rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Arthur scowled and glared at the water.

"I think it's better than being naked," he mumbled, too low for anyone to truly hear.

Yong-Soo looked at Arthur again and smiled. “I’m glad you’re with us too, da zee!”

Arthur blinked and glared. "Yes well I had no bloody choice since you kept groping me!"

Yong-Soo merely grinned in response. Gilbert laughed and reached down to give Arthur’s ass a quick grope before falling back into the water and swimming away from Arthur’s line of fire.

"GILBERT!" Arthur began swimming after, his face even redder than before. "Wanker! Get back here so I can kill you!"

“KESESESE!” Gilbert only laughed as he got behind Matthew and held the boy’s body between them. “Protect me, Birdie! Artie won’t hurt you!”

“O-oh no!” Matthew squeaked and shut his eyes tightly.

"The bloody hell I won't hurt him, but you're no exception!" Arthur growled. He managed to stumble up to the two and tried getting behind Matthew, however Gilbert kept jerking the Canadian around so that he was always between Arthur and Gilbert.

"You know, I'm almost tempted to jump in and help," Alfred said to Yong-Soo as Arthur let out a frustrated growl.

“Almost, da zee?” Yong-Soo asked Alfred curiously as Matthew shrieked. Being constantly dragged to face an angry Arthur was scary!

"Yeah, this is kinda funny," Alfred laughed.

“F-funny for you!” Matthew screamed to his brother as Gilbert whirled him around again. “C-come on Arthur, p-please... c-can’t you get him later in his sleep or something, eh?”

Gilbert gasped. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Birdie!”

Matthew pouted and folded his arms. “You’re not supposed to use me as a shield!”

Arthur stopped, seeming to think about it for a second before a sly grin spread over is face. "Fine, fine. I'll stop."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm, I think you guys should lock your doors at night." Arthur shot him a look.

Gilbert whimpered slightly, letting go of Matthew and backing away. “Hey Artie... no hard feelings, right? Kesese...” he laughed awkwardly.

"Oh of course not Gilbert," Arthur said a little too sweetly, smirking at the albino.

Gilbert shivered a little and sank down in the water until it was covering up to his nose. Matthew giggled and smiled at Arthur.

“So, do you want to play ‘Marco Polo’?” he asked innocently.

"Oh! Oh! I do!" Alfred yelled immediately, blue eyes sparkling with excitement as he wave his hand frantically in the air. Arthur looked over at Alfred and laughed.

"Oh why the bloody hell not," Arthur shrugged, calmed now as he smiled at Matthew.

Gilbert jumped up. “Naked Marco Polo? Hell yeah!”

Yong Soo looked confused. “What is Marco Polo, da zee?”

"It's a game," Alfred explained. "If you're it, you close your eyes and walk around saying 'Marco, Marco' and the other players will try to keep out of your reach, but they have to say 'Polo' to every 'Marco' the person who's it says 'Marco'. If you get touched by the person whose it, then you become it."

Matthew nodded. “But there’s rules! No leaving the water allowed, and no going out deeper than when the person who’s ‘it’ can touch bottom with their head above the water.”

“And if you stop saying ‘Polo’ just ‘cause the guy’s close to you, everyone gets to call you out on it and you’re it automatically,” Gilbert snorted, “No pussing out on us.”

"Oh, right!" Alfred laughed. "Forgot about those other rules." The American smiled before adding, "Hey! You think the others might wanna play too? The more players we have the more fun we'll have to!"

"Oh you will NOT tell Francis!" Arthur snapped, his face growing red again. "I mean, I believe we have a good enough amount of people to play!"

Gilbert made a thoughtful sound, “Well, there’s only five of us. Antonio’s still mopey and... no to the fucking Russian bastard. But...” He waved franticly to his brother on the shore, “YO LUDWIG! WE’RE PLAYING MARCO POLO, ARE YOU IN?”

Ludwig flushed and shook his head from the shore.

“AW, COME ON! PLEASE!”

Ludwig shook his head again. Gilbert pouted, and then smirked. “AS YOUR CAPTAIN, I ORDER YOU TO COME PLAY MARCO POLO WITH US! Kesesese...”

At this, Ludwig rolled his eyes, rubbed his forehead, and finally entered the water.

“HON HON HON, YOU ARE PLAYING MARCO POLO?!” Francis called from nearby, “I WOULD BE HAPPY TO PLAY! Except my hair cannot get wet, _non_?”

Gilbert grinned, “SURE, SURE!”

Arthur let out a squeak and swam as far away from Francis as he could without leaving the small cluster of people.

"Okay! So unless someone volunteers to be it, we'll have to race for it!" Alfred said excitedly, his wide smile growing wider.

"By that he means screaming 'not it', and the last person to 'not it' is actually forced to be it," Arthur explained.

“NOT IT!” Yong Soo gasped as soon as Arthur’s words processed.

“Not it!” Matthew said quickly after, almost at the same time Gilbert shrieked it.

“NOT IT! Hon hon hon...”

“Wait, what?” Ludwig hadn’t really been paying attention.

"Not it," Arthur said swiftly, his voice almost over shadowed by Alfred's loud screaming of "NOT IT! NOT IT! NOT IT!"

“LUDDY’S IT!” Gilbert screamed, “SHUT YOUR EYES, BRUDER!”

Ludwig groaned, but dutifully shut his eyes. “MARCO!” His loud voice carried across the water. Everyone quickly began trying to swim and run away as they screamed ‘POLO’ back to him. Ludwig began moving toward Alfred, since his shout had been the easiest to hear.

“MARCO!” Ludwig shouted again after a couple of moments.

"Polo!" Arthur called. He was completely far out of Ludwig's reach, but it did not stop Arthur from continuously swimming around.

"POLO!" Alfred yelled out loudly. Ludwig seemed to hear his better, but Alfred was quick to swim away. Ludwig however, seemed determined to head in Alfred's direction, so the American switched his course and swam alongside Francis, both of them watching Ludwig continue on in the false direction.

“M-MARCO!” Ludwig sputtered when he realised he couldn’t hear water splashing in front of him anymore.

“POLO!” came the resounding shout and Ludwig groaned, turning around completely and heading toward Francis and Alfred now, seeing as they had been closest. As Francis shrieked and tried to run, he couldn’t swim without risking his hair hitting the water, Gilbert took the chance to sneak up behind Ludwig and splash him before diving under the water to escape. Ludwig swore and turned around to snatch at the air in his annoyance.

“MARCO!” he shouted again.

"Polo," Arthur piped up, a comfortable distance away that he could watch without worry.

"Polo," Alfred said, his voice quieter, whether it be because Ludwig was so close or because the American finally realized he shouldn't be so loud, although most assumed the first, Alfred swam away as fast as he could.

Ludwig grunted, but still headed in the same direction as Francis shrieked and splashed trying to get away. It was only a moment before Ludwig grabbed his arm.

“Oh _non_!” Francis pouted but dutifully closed his eyes as Ludwig opened his and began quickly swimming away. Then Francis began laughing... it was creepy. “HON HON HON HON HON MARCOOOO!”

“POLO!” Came the shouts around him and Francis began to splash his way toward the voices, though his refusal to actually swim was slowing him down a rather lot.

Arthur hurried as far away as possible, not wanting to be publicly groped by Francis, who would probably have a bit too much fun in their current nakedness that was hidden by the salty ocean. He only said polo loud enough that it would be considered allowable, never any higher than that.

None the less, Arthur could almost swear Francis was cheating because even though he wasn’t making a beeline, Arthur could tell Francis was constantly moving in his general direction even as he seemed to be chasing other voices.

“MARCO!” Francis called again in a sing-song voice, this time pretending to be going after Matthew presumably, even though Gilbert had been closer and louder last time he had called.

"POLO!" Alfred called loudly. He was a safe distance away, and completely unbothered by Francis since the Frenchman didn't seem to have any interest in him no matter how loudly he called.

"Polo," Arthur said, his voice lowering as he backed away into the deeper water. Yet again, Arthur cursed his height as he stopped when the water level was barely below his bottom lip. Even though Arthur could have sworn Francis hadn’t a hope of hearing him, the Frenchman changed direction from Matthew and was now _definitely_ heading his way.

“Marco~” Francis said happily, and Arthur didn’t have a hope of proving it but he KNEW French had to be squinting through his eyelashes and could see him, he KNEW it.

"Bloody polo, go away!" Arthur hissed, lowering his voice even more while trying to swim away. When Francis only smirked pervertedly, Arthur dove down and sped off in the water, positive Francis would not lunge down to catch him. When Arthur broke the surface, he was further away, but Francis was still heading toward him. Arthur glared and backed away, wary of Francis's outstretched groping hands.

As Francis worked hard to catch up and grope Arthur, Gilbert stood with the others and sighed. “Kesese... well since Franny’s obviously just trying to fuck in the water, let’s start a new game with just us... NOT IT!”

“Not it!” Ludwig said quickly this time.

“Not it!” Matthew gasped out.

“Not it, da zee!”

"NOT-HEY!!" Alfred scowled, realizing he was it. "Not fair!"

"Francis, you wanker, stop!" Arthur wailed, trying to get away and not caring since the others had cut them out. "W-We're not playing anymore Francis, I swear I'm warning you frog! B-Back up!"

“HON HON HON, but I have not stopped playing! The game of _l’amour_ never ends!” Francis grinned, his eyes clearly opened at least a crack as he chased Arthur through the water blissfully.

Arthur squeaked and hurriedly splashed away. "It does when I say so! Now stop!"

Francis giggled like a madman as he pursued the Brit. “But how can I when you are so adorable, _mon pigeon_? Come now, stop running and fall into the arms of _l’amour_!”

"No! Stop being weird!" Arthur dove back down underwater and swam away. When Arthur came back up, he gasped to find Francis standing before him. "F-Frog!"

Francis tittered and grabbed Arthur, pulling them out so the water was up to his neck and Arthur had either the choice of treading water or hanging onto Francis if he wanted to keep himself breathing. And treading water was difficult when Francis was kissing him all over his face and rubbing his buttocks below the water.

"F-Frog stop," Arthur protested, clinging to Francis with one arm while trying to push the wandering hands away with the other. "We're in public you wanker! With everyone we know here!"

Francis giggled, “Oh but they do not watch us! They are busy having fun, _non_? Alfred even has his eyes closed and Mathieu wouldn’t look. It is not as if they do not know of our love anyway~” The Frenchman quickly kissed Arthur’s lips for a good several seconds before moving down to his neck, holding Arthur around his arse and the small of his back so he would be unable to properly get away. Because of this, their cocks were also pushed together and Arthur noted that Francis was rather hard.

"Francis!" Arthur said seriously, his face heating up again. "What are you planning you wanker?" Arthur did not like where things seemed to be heading, and panic began to bubble in his chest.

Francis left Arthur neck to whisper into his ear. “Surely this excites you _mon petit lapin_?” he then kissed Arthur’s ear lobe and slipped a wild finger between Arthur’s buttocks and rubbed it against the puckered hole hidden there.

Arthur couldn't deny it was arousing, he couldn't deny that he was getting turned on by it, but he also couldn't deny that he was panicking. "F-Francis stop," he begged.

“Oh, they won’t know what we’re doing,” Francis nuzzled Arthur’s ear as a finger slipped inside of his lover, “They are busy, and we are hidden by the waves~”

"A-Are you sure?" Arthur asked. He was still panicking, but slowly melting against Francis as the single finger continued to rub inside him.

“So sure,” Francis whispered, planting another kiss on Arthur’s lips and adding a second finger, “Everything will be fine, _non_?”

Arthur shivered, nodding and relaxing against Francis. "F-Fine, I-I trust you." The panic and paranoia was still there, but it seemed to add more excitement to what they were doing, so Arthur allowed Francis to continue. He kissed Francis's neck, moaning softly when a third finger was added.

“Ah,” Francis paused a moment at thrusting his fingers. “I do not think I will stretch these apart, I don’t want too much water getting inside you down there...” Instead Francis pulled Arthur up to align him and the moment his fingers came out he slipped his cock inside, slowly entering. Since water isn’t the best lubricant he had to go very slowly so as not to hurt the Brit, but luckily Arthur was used enough to stretching that the pain was definitely bearable and nearly vanished entirely when Francis brushed against his prostate.

Arthur let out a noise, digging his nails into Francis's skin, but not deep enough to cut skin. It was different, exciting, and sort of awkward for the Briton. Arthur groaned and shifted against Francis, moving the Frenchman inside him to defiantly hit his prostate.

It was difficult to build a rhythm with the water slowing their movements, but Francis somehow managed to bounce Arthur up and down on himself, murmuring sweet nothings into the Briton’s ear the whole while.

Meanwhile, quite a ways away but still fully visible Alfred was still unable to catch anyone in Marco Polo and was getting very frustrated. Even though Gilbert had stopped moving entirely and was staring... straight at Francis and Arthur.

Matthew swam up beside Gilbert and looked where he was.

“Uh... w-what are you looking at, eh?”

“Francis,” Gilbert shook his head, and Matthew was surprised to notice his boyfriend was blushing; “Only he could convince Arthur to fuck him in the ocean at a nude beach...”

Matthew’s face flushed pink. “EH?! H-how do you know? I-I mean they’re close together but-“

“Look at them, Arthur’s bouncing up and down over there and he’s all flushed... what the hell else would they be doing?”

“O-oh,” Matthew said quietly and they watched a little while longer before Matthew realised what exactly they were doing. “W-well don’t look then!”

“Why no- oh crap,” Gilbert felt a hand grab his arm and turned to see Alfred looking triumphant. “Damn, guess I’m it... have fun watching your dad getting fucked in the ocean then.” The albino grinned and shut his eyes as Matthew put some distance between them, at the same time scolding Gilbert for telling Alfred such a thing.

Alfred blinked, the words setting in slowly. He looked over to where the two were, and it finally dawned on him. Alfred, despite having accepted the fact that his father loved Francis, was pissed. It was a public beach for god's sake!

"HEY!" Alfred screamed angrily, abandoning the game and swimming over to the two. "FRANCIS YOU BASTARD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"Oh lord," the Briton groaned. Arthur looked up, his stomach twisting when he saw Alfred heading toward them. Arthur tried to detach himself form Francis, even as his body automatically pressed closer. "F-frog. Frog Alfred's coming!"

“Nrg,” Francis was focused on the task at hand, so it took a moment for Arthur’s warning to register. And when it did, the Frenchman seemed unconcerned. “Oh, well, you’re nearly finished; it’ll be only a moment!” Francis began bouncing Arthur faster rather than stopping, clearly too much into it to bother. And Alfred was still a bit of a distance away, it could take a couple minutes to actually reach them with the water resistance... maybe...

Arthur moaned out, gripping Francis tightly. The faster pace left him panting heavily, clinging to Francis, and feverishly kissing his lover's neck. Well to hell with it then, Arthur decided, the lust finally infecting his brain. Only a couple more thrusts, and Arthur gasped out his release. "Francis!"

“A-Arthur,” Francis gasped out his release inside of the Englishman. He still held Arthur as Alfred approached, only just slipping out of him when Alfred got close enough to stop ignoring. Francis gave the blonde boy a tired smile, still holding Arthur up in the water since it was definitely too deep to let him go in this state. “Hello, Alfred! Are you done playing your little game?”

"Yeah, I am," Alfred glared, blue eyes flickering from Francis's tired smile to how Arthur held onto Francis. "So, how's it going over here?"

"Fairly well," Arthur answered, "I can't touch the bottom though."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Does Francis know you can't swim?"

"I can swim!" Arthur snapped, glaring. "J-Just not so properly."

Alfred rolled his eyes before deciding to be blunt. "Gilbert said you two were screwing in public."

“Gilbert says many things that aren’t necessarily true,” Francis said with a smirk, holding Arthur closer to himself, “Perhaps he only wanted to get under your skin, _non_?” Francis grinned at the American, and then looked at Arthur seriously. “You truly cannot swim, _cheri_? You should have told me! I wouldn’t have taken you out so far had I known that!”

"I can!" Arthur denied, scowling. "Alfred's being a prat!" Alfred frowned but pondered on Francis's words, wondering if they were true or not.

Francis hummed. “So you would not have a problem if I let you go right here?”

Arthur gripped Francis tighter. "D-Don't you dare!"

Francis chuckled and kissed Arthur on the side of the head. “I will not. But you should know how to swim, _cheri_. I will start teaching you immediately!”

Arthur gave him a look. "How so?"

Francis smiled, “We will teach you to float! Oh, Alfred,” Francis looked at the American with a pleasant expression, “Do you perhaps need a swimming lesson as well?”

Alfred blinked. "Huh? But I can swim."

Francis’ smile grew, “Well, in that case perhaps you should go back to the others, so that Arthur won’t feel embarrassed with you watching him learn, _non_?”

Alfred scowled. "Don't do anything perverted then! We're in public!" Arthur flushed and looked away, grumbling. Alfred gave them a look, before swimming back to Gilbert and Matthew.

Francis smiled at Arthur. “See? Everything worked out. So we will teach you to float, _non_?” Arthur looked unsure, but nodded. Francis nodded back. “Now first I must ask you, Arthur, do you trust the water?”

"When I'm on a flat surface, yes," Arthur answered. "When there's nothing beneath my feet, not so much."

Francis sighed, “Ah, but look, when you are in the water it supports you, and it holds you up. It does not wish to drown you. When you are in the water you become lighter. And by spreading out your body like the wings of a bird you may ride atop of the water. Only when you scrunch yourself into a ball do you fall like a stone and so!” Francis adjusted his hold on Arthur so he supported him with the palms of his hands along the surface of the water on his back. Luckily the waves at the moment were fairly gentle, but Francis still worked to make sure Arthur stayed at the surface. “In the air I could never support you with my palms alone. The water is already cradling you like a child. So spread your arms and legs out as far as they go and thrust out your midsection to the sun!”

Arthur looked both curious and frightened. Cautiously, he stretched out his legs. His brows furrowed in concentration as he began to spread his arms out as well. He was floating, weightless and unbound. The fear began to subside and the thrilling feeling of first floating in water took over. He remembered Francis telling him to thrust his midsection upward, so he did. His heart thumped as the water swallowed up his hair and ears, leaving his face above the surface. The entire world was engulfed by the silence of the water; the only sound Arthur could hear was his heartbeat and his own breathing. Eyelids slid over green eyes and a small smile spread across his face. It felt amazing and so peaceful; Arthur wanted to stay like this forever.

That is, until a rogue wave that was oddly larger than the ones around it hit him and sent his face under the water, leaving him scrambling for the surface and gasping for air as water ran up his nose. It was only a few seconds before Francis grabbed him up and dragged him back in enough for the Englishman to touch bottom again. “Ah, _desole_ Arthur; sometimes that will happen. It is easier to float on a lake with fewer waves. Are you alright, _cheri_?” Francis asked as he rubbed the back of the coughing Brit.

Arthur coughed, hacking up the small amount of salt water that had managed to get into his throat. "I-I'm okay," he said hoarsely. Arthur rubbed the salt from his eyes, not that it helped much since his hands were covered in salt water as well.

Francis nodded, continuing to rub Arthur’s back, “Would you like to go in to shore, now?”

"Yes please," Arthur nodded.

Francis and Arthur moved toward the shore, narrowly dodging Yong-Soo who had become ‘it’ and was making rather groping-like motions with his hands as well. Though luckily, it seemed, he was playing according to the rules and not peeking at all. The two made it to the shore without further issue and Francis made sure Arthur didn’t see Ivan’s grin and thumbs up he shot Francis as they passed him and headed back to the beach blanket. “We should probably call everyone in for supper soon, _non_? Everyone will certainly sleep well tonight.”

Arthur nodded, hurrying to wrap himself in the towel he had brought. "Let them play a little longer," Arthur said, looking back out to the others. The seemed to be having fun, chasing each other in the water. Alfred and Gilbert kept their distance from Yong-Soo, confusing him as they both repeatedly shouted 'Polo' over and over again, and Matthew watched from the side, trying not to laugh.

Francis sighed and slipped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “On another day I will have to teach you to swim correctly. To be at sea and not swim... it is terrible to think what would happen to you.”

"Well I haven't needed to know yet," Arthur mumbled guiltily. "It never came up, so I never bothered to learn."

“Well you’ll learn now,” Francis said firmly, “I insist. And since Peter likely doesn’t know as well we will make sure he learns once we catch up with him.”

"Probably a good idea," Arthur nodded in agreement.

After another ten minutes or so, Francis got to his feet and shouted for everyone to come in so they could eat. When that failed to move people, Ivan bellowed out the order even louder, and this sparked a more immediate reaction from Yong Soo and Alfred at any rate. Ludwig had already quit the game and went to alert Miguel and Antonio that they were leaving. Gilbert and Matthew looked torn about doing as Ivan asked, but seeing as everyone else was heading in the two grudgingly did the same.

“Did little Alfred enjoy the beach?” Ivan asked as he wrapped a towel securely around Alfred’s shoulders when he approached, smiling happily at the boy.

"Yeah! I loved it!" Alfred said brightly, flashing Ivan a wide smile. "I still say you should have come in _Podsolnechnik_!"

Ivan shook his head, “Ah, _nyet, lapushka_. My skin burns too easily, _da_. But it is alright, I was content to watch you and your little friends splash about naked.” He smirked a little perversely, “It gave me thoughts for later, _da_?”

Alfred blinked. Like always, it took Alfred a minute to understand. Alfred laughed with a light blush on his face. "Well, I guess if you had fun in some way..."

The group dried off with some fanfare and pulled on their clothes before leaving the beach that was slowly emptying out as people got the same idea as Francis. They walked about fifteen minutes to reach the inn again and by that time everyone was looking rather exhausted from all the sun and physical activity. Still, the group met in the dining hall to eat. Ivan looked rather pleased that, as long as Alfred was beside him, he was more-or-less accepted into their group as well. His pleasant mood almost made up for the dark cloud still hovering over Antonio’s head even as Miguel constantly tried to cheer up his cousin by reminding him that Lovino had a much better chance of coming back to him now that his _Nonno_ was dead.

“Well you’d better cheer up,” Miguel said finally, getting fed up with Antonio’s unnatural frowning face. “We’re both going to visit my parents tomorrow, I haven’t seen them in a year and a half and you haven’t seen them in longer. They’re your family too.”

“ _Si_ , I know,” Antonio mumbled to his dinner plate.

Francis looked at Arthur curiously, “Was there anything you would like to do tomorrow, _lapin_?”

"Well I just thought about sightseeing a bit," Arthur said, "Nothing much beyond that. Why?"

“Oh, I just wanted to know if you had anything in mind...” Francis smiled a little, “Perhaps a second date is in order, _non_?”

Arthur gave him a small smile. "I'd like that."

Alfred blinked, and then looked at Ivan. " _Podsolnechnik_ ," he said cautiously. "Last time we were docked, it slipped my mind since all I wanted to do was see Dad, but I was wondering. Can I get some new glasses?"

Ivan looked at Alfred curiously for a moment, but then smiled indulgently. “ _Da_ , of course you may little one. We will get some tomorrow. But I get to have input on which frames to get, since I am paying for them.”

Alfred smiled widely and hugged Ivan. "Of course! _Spasibo Podsolnechnik_!"

“Your accent is improving,” Ivan said happily as he stroked Alfred’s hair, “Ready for bed yet, _lapushka_?”

"But Ivan! It's still light out!" Alfred pouted.

Ivan hummed, “But you will be VERY tired when I’m done playing with you, and we have to be up early tomorrow, best to get started. Also, you need a bath to wash off all the salt, _da_?”

Alfred laughed, grinning excitedly. "Oh~? Well in that case what the hell are we still sticking around here for?"

“Bath?” Gilbert perked up and grinned, “Hate to say it but the Ruski’s got a point, ne Mattie? We’ll need a bath too, best to save water and take it together! Kesesese!”

Matthew flushed bright red. “E-eh?”

“I wish he wouldn’t do that in front of us,” Francis grumbled, stabbing at his meat rather hard with his fork.

Arthur sighed and filled his mouth with vegetables to stop himself from saying anything. When it came to dealing with his two sons and their lovers, Arthur decided it was best to just keep him mouth shut.

It wasn’t long before everyone had finished their meals and departed to their separate rooms. It was probably just unfortunate that Francis and Arthur were next door to Ivan and Alfred. Within a few moment all they could hear was a bed creaking and Alfred screaming ‘YES’, ‘IVAN’, and random Russian words.

Francis said blankly after a while, “Usually when I hear him doing that the screams are far more pain-filled. In a way, this makes me feel better about things, actually.”

Arthur peeked out from the pillow he held, folded around the back of his head in attempts to block out the noise. "Frog, as utterly relieved as I am that he's not hurting Alfred, I would much rather not hear them doing it!" Arthur snapped. In a way it was nice to know that Alfred was...satisfied with his lover, but it was all too awkward for the Briton since Arthur was the one to raise the American. Sure he knew Alfred was no virgin, but to hear his beloved son being bedded was just too much for Arthur.

Francis hummed. “ _Oui_... you have a point. Oh! I know!” Francis clapped, “We should just try to be louder than they are!”

Arthur gave him a dark look. "And what do you think my answer will be, frog?"

Francis whined. “Oh but hear me out, _cheri_! You are his father figure, if he hears you moaning it will likely ruin his own arousal, so he will stop making such noises! Also it would be sexy to hear you scream so loudly...”

"Francis, that's my adopted son," Arthur growled. "I can't get aroused with him making those noises!"

The Frenchman grinned. “Oh hon hon, I am sure I could manage to arouse you in spite of that...” His fingers trailed down Arthur’s chest toward his groin.

Arthur growled and smacked Francis's hand away. Scowling, he pointedly turned around so is back was facing Francis. "Go to bed frog!"

“Aww but...” Francis curled up behind Arthur so they were spooning and quickly returned his hand to Arthur’s crotch, squeezing gently and whispering in his ear, “Surely you cannot sleep without the night-time routine...”

At that moment Alfred let out a particularly long moan of pleasure. Then he wailed, “Ivan, you promised no dildos tonight!” There was a pause, “Woah, it’s all bumpy...”

Arthur found himself groaning, and not from pleasure or from the hand on his groin. "That was something I could have lived my entire life without ever hearing."

Francis hummed and kept rubbing gently, “Are you sure you do not wish to try drowning him out? It would be good revenge, give him some scarring memories of his own...”

"I feel like you’re trying to somehow start a competition with Ivan," Arthur mumbled, his body finally beginning to react positively to the patient hand coaxing his length into hardness. Arthur worried for his ability to walk tomorrow in he allowed Francis to have his way.

“W-ell... I would be lying to say Ivan wouldn’t expect me to try to compete with him, we have before and I must say what I lacked in loudness I made up for in sweetness of sound. But I am willing to try harder, _cheri_ ,” Francis kissed Arthur’s neck gently and moved up to nibble on his earlobe, his hand never ending its ministrations on Arthur’s standing erection.

Arthur sighed, leaning back into Francis. "Fine," Arthur snapped, his face heating up. "But you better give me a bloody good reason to be louder than Alfred, which would take a miracle."

“Well, challenge accepted!” Francis grinned and in a moment flipped them both around until Arthur was under him and Francis was placing heated kisses all around his face and neck, hastily unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt so he could pinch at his nipples.

Arthur moaned, wondering why Francis's quick movements still surprised him. Arthur brought his arms to wrap around Francis's shoulders, pulling him closer as soft moans spilled from his mouth.

“Oh, but this simply will not do!” Francis cackled as he ran his fingernails up Arthur’s sides and grabbed his wrists, yanking them above his head and fastening them to the bars on the headboard with handcuffs that the Frenchman seemed to produce from nowhere. “You must be at my mercy; after all, the entire goal is to make you scream for me, _non_?”

"Wha-?! Francis!" Arthur snapped, surprised and shocked. He tugged at the bonds, eyes widening. This would not end well.

Francis giggled and jumped off the bed, returning with a single feather. “We will begin with some sweet torment, _non_? Such things must be built up to remain pleasurable! Now then...” Francis trailed the feather down Arthur’s neck and teased his nipples with it once again before going lower and using it to tickle the sensitive cock. The softness in such sensitive areas made Arthur moan and pant wildly. When the feather swirled around is penis, Arthur couldn't help clenching his thighs together and letting out a loud whine.

“ _Bon_ ,” Francis smiled and took the feather away, leaning down to give Arthur a small kiss on the lips, then moved down to give his cock a small kiss as well. Then he hurried off again only to return holding a small strip of leather. “Now we will try with this!” he giggled and lightly slapped Arthur’s chest with the leather strip. It did sting a little, but not too badly. Really it was his nipples getting so hard that irritated Arthur the most as the leather strip reddened the area around them. Arthur let out an irritated whine.

"F-Francis!" Arthur snapped; his voice heavy with want. It was at that moment that Alfred had apparently deemed it appropriate to pleasurably scream out something in Russian. Arthur gave Francis a look.

Francis pouted, “He is doing it on purpose!” The Frenchman began slapping at Arthur’s skin, reddening a trail down to Arthur’s cock and then without warning dipped his head, taking Arthur to the back of his throat and giving a long suck before pulling away completely and giving a hard smack to Arthur’s balls with the leather.

Arthur yelled, the movements too fast, and teetering on the point of pain and pleasure. Except for the last part. "Francis!" Arthur cried out painfully, shrinking away. "T-That hurt!"

“Oh, _desole_!” Francis frowned and leaned down to take Arthur’s sack into his mouth, licked and sucking at the red marks for a while. The soothing warmth than enveloped his sack made Arthur cry out in pleasure, his legs falling open again. Then Francis sat up again and gave a couple of moderately hard smacks to each of Arthur’s open thighs, making him yelp. “Now, I know how much you like your nipples pinched, so I have something new to try!” He jumped off the bed yet again and returned this time with a small riding crop similar to what Arthur had used on the Frenchman before and also a long cord with two clamps, one on each end of it.

Though his mind was hazy, Arthur eyes the clamps with wary eyes. "F-Francis, w-what are you going to do with those?" He panted, wetting his dry lips with his tongue.

“Well _cheri_ , you enjoy having your nipples pinched and I need my hands to be elsewhere, so these will pinch them for us!” Francis chuckled and drew close to Arthur, holding open the clamps and placing them over Arthur’s erect nubs. “Ready?”

Arthur swallowed nervously, but nodded. "T-They come off if I say so, okay?"

Francis smiled and leaned down to nuzzle his face against Arthur’s. “ _Oui, mon cheri_ , of course.” And then without further warning he let the clamps snap closed on Arthur’s tender buds. Arthur screamed out in surprise, his back arching. The surprise and pleasure mixed together, making him yell again, although this one was quieter. He panted heavily; a long keening sound tore itself. The clamps seemed to bring on a reaction every so often since the items were still there.

“ _Bon_! Perfect, those are working wonderfully, _non_?” Francis chuckled, noting that the noises next door had gone down to moans and rhythmic creaks from the bed. A lovely time to show off. “Now then, let us see down here, shall we?” The Frenchman lifted Arthur’s legs both in one arm, folding them up and Arthur nearly in half and grabbed the riding crop to bring it down a few times on each thigh before trailing down to rub Arthur’s hole. He would rub and thrust fingers into it for a short while- when he had applied lube to them Arthur hadn’t the foggiest- and then quietly the blued eyed blonde would switch and begin to strike his buttocks with the crop, reddening them before abusing the poor Brit’s hole with his fingers again.

“You like this, _non_?” Francis chuckled as Arthur tried to unconsciously buck himself onto the Frenchman’s fingers when he drew them out for the third time.

Arthur whined loudly, begging Francis with his eyes. "D-Damn it Francis," Arthur cried loudly. He tossed his head back, wailing loudly. The repeated actions were driving the Englishman mad with the lust that enveloped his too hot body and his dazzled mind.

Finally Francis gave a firm swat across Arthur’s hole with the crop and began to trace the leather instrument around. “You know what I think you’d like? Being fucked with my riding crop, do you want the riding crop inside you, _lapin_?”

Through the wall there was a brief moment of silence. Then Alfred yelled, “WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING TO MY DA- Aaaaaaah,” Alfred trailed into a moan and that started to shake and break into cries of pleasure again.

Arthur growled, jealousy crawling into his heart and mind. He nodded, eyes sparking with lust. After all, Arthur only let him do this because he loved him and trusted him.

" _Oui, Francis, Je le veux en moi_!" He begged, knowing how much Francis adored when he spoke French.

Francis licked his lips as he thrust the crop deep inside of his lover, quickly pulling it in and out working hard to find Arthur’s prostate. The feeling was strange, though not really painful since the crop wasn’t as thick as Francis’ cock and was yielding inside of him, rubbing him in a rather erotic way, making him buck and moan. At least a proper yelp was heard and Francis assumed this meant the prostate search was over. He repeatedly thrust the crop in that direction.

“ _Dites-moi combien_ _vous aimez être baisée par ce jouet sale, mon lapin_ ,” Francis demanded with a lusty grin as he ravaged Arthur’s insides mercilessly trying to get as many pleasured sounds from the man as possible. Arthur wailed out his pleasure, mind completely gone as he tried to only gain more and more pleasure from the crop. He screamed out, unsure in which language, for more. Sweat dripped down his body and matted his hair, his hands pulled against the chains, but still Arthur craved more. A sharp jab to his prostate made him scream.

Loud mocking laughter was heard through the wall and soon Alfred’s screaming had risen in pitch and volume, though this time if one paid attention they might notice a touch of pain in the voice.

“I-IVAN I DON’T, AAH ST-STO... nnnrg,” Alfred moaned again after a moment.

Meanwhile, Francis pulled out the crop, relishing in the desperate whine from Arthur. He quickly moved himself into position and placed Arthur’s legs on his shoulders. “Beg me, _lapin_. Beg me for it.”

" _S'il vous plaît_ , Francis!" Arthur begged, trying to lower himself onto Francis's cock. " _J'ai besoin de toi_!"

“ _Bon fils_ ,” Francis said before pushing himself inside, letting out a long, loud groan as he was engulfed by the wet walls. “You’re always so perfect for me, _mon amour_. Now prepare to be fucked into the mattress.” With that, Francis tilted Arthur’s rear end up and began slamming into him much harder than he usually did just upon entering, but not in an overly painful way. Mostly it was the position that was uncomfortable as Francis was nearly pile-driving him at this point. Arthur screamed. Despite the uncomfortable position, the fast hard pace that Francis was drilling into him filled Arthur with nothing but pure pleasure. He tried bucking, arching, anything to urge for more as he yelled out the pleasure he felt.

It seemed that both Arthur and Alfred’s screams were going to rattle the walls down. Which meant that really, it wasn’t a surprise when a loud knock came from the opposite wall and Ludwig’s voice was heard screaming: “WILL YOU _DUMMKÖPFE_ SHUT UP IN THERE BEFORE THE ENTIRE INN COMPLAINS ABOUT YOU AND GETS US ALL KICKED OUT?!”

Francis froze mid-thrust, and the sounds from the Russian’s room also paused for a moment.

Then Ivan called, “Does Francis wish to admit defeat?”

Francis nibbled his lip and contemplated for a moment. “ _Oui_... for this night I will surrender!”

“Then I win! Yay!” Ivan was heard through the wall and then Alfred’s sounds continued, though muffled as if through some kind of gag, or maybe Ivan was just covering his mouth.

Francis continued to drive himself into Arthur as well, but more gently than before, “Don’t be too loud now; I do not want Ludwig to get too upset. He can be... rather frightening when he tries, _non_?” Arthur hummed his agreement, shivering as he adjusted his body from to fast rapid pace to the slower one. He gasped and moaned, struggling to get to completion as Francis continued to pump in and out of him.

At last as Francis found himself getting close he grabbed Arthur’s manhood and began to stroke him so that they both could complete at nearly the same time. Once done, Francis sighed and withdrew, cuddling up half on top of Arthur’s body. “That was lovely, _mon cheri_. It is a pity we were interrupted, I’m sure we could’ve easily won had we not been. Though at the very least we’ve given Alfred something to think about later, _non_?”

Half asleep, Arthur weakly tugged at his restrains. "Off," he mumbled. "Off so I can smack you." Some now lucid part of Arthur's mind that wasn't asleep yet realized tomorrow, he would face an irritable American...assuming said American could walk tomorrow.

Francis frowned, “But why would I take them off if you’re going to smack me?”

"Because my wrists hurt," Arthur pouted.

“Ah, very well,” Francis sighed and reached up to unlock the cuffs, tossing them and the key aside before snuggling up with Arthur again. It was too warm to bother with a blanket in his opinion, but it was never too warm to snuggle with his cute British lover.

Arthur shifted, wincing when a ripple of pain crawled up from his lower body. He pouted and lightly smacked Francis on the shoulder. "If I can't get up tomorrow I'm hitting you harder," he yawned warningly, snuggling closer to Francis.

Francis frowned slightly, stroking Arthur’s hair. “That would make our date a little more difficult...”

"Yes, it would," Arthur agreed. "But you’re the one at fault for getting carried away."

“But you liked it!” Francis tittered, laying a kiss on the top of Arthur’s head.

Arthur blushed, stumbling for a comeback. "J-Just go to sleep wanker!"

“ _Bon nuit,_ ” Francis smiled, “ _Je t’aime_.”

"Goodnight. I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS  
> Dites-moi combien vous aimez être baisée par ce jouet sale, mon lapin - (French) Tell me how much you love being fucked with this dirty toy, my rabbit


	22. Second Date

**Chapter 22 – Second Date**

The next morning, Arthur awoke to the smell of fresh tea. He opened his eyes to see Francis smiling down at him, fully dressed and holding a tray with his breakfast, on which he noted there was some peach jam as well.

“ _Bon matin, lapin._ The tea will probably not be as strong as you are used to in England, but it is all they had,” Francis confessed as he waited for Arthur to sit up and take the tray. Arthur yawned, pushing himself up. He winced from the pain in his sore ass, but did nothing as he reached for the tray.

"Thank you, love," Arthur thanked gratefully. Tea was so scarce, he was always happy whenever he could get some. It wasn't strong as he would have liked it to be, but there was no reason to be picky. Tea was tea. Arthur set the cup down and began to eat. “So where are we going today?" he asked after swallowing a bite of toast slathered with the jam. It really was good.

“Ah, well, I myself am not completely familiar with the area,” Francis admitted, “But I did get Miguel to recommend a few cafes we could dine at. We can also site see along the coast line as it is rather beautiful, and then I thought we could tour this one castle near the coast. It’s apparently been out of use for a couple of centuries so it’s run down, but it’s apparently still quite nice to look at and you might like it.”

"A castle huh?" Arthur hummed, looking curious. "I wonder if it was once as grand as Her Highness's in London. I think that might be nice to visit."

“Ah, well, I doubt it was that great. It was only a Lord’s castle, not true royalty,” Francis chuckled, “But it should be nice. So hurry and finish your breakfast so we can go... that is, if you’re not hurting too much?”

"A bit sore," Arthur admitted sheepishly. "But I'm pretty sure I can walk." Arthur continued eating, briefly wondering about Alfred's condition. Once finished, Arthur set the tray aside. "Alright, might as well stop procrastinating and try standing," Arthur sighed, just a tiny bit nervous. Every movement sent small stabs of pain through his lower torso, but Arthur was able to stand and walk, although he had an obvious limp from their activities the previous night. "Damn you frog."

“Oh the pains of _l’amour_ ,” Francis tutted and leaned down to kiss Arthur’s forehead. “Well if at any point you need to stop and rest a moment make sure you speak up. I understand how delicate you are, _non_?”

Arthur scowled at Francis, hating being called delicate. But he let it slide this time since he was in the condition he was in. "Alright frog," Arthur sighed. "Let me get changed then we can go."

Francis nodded and waited patiently as Arthur limped around the room, putting his clothes on. Once done with that, Francis held out his arm for Arthur to lean on as they headed out of the room and down to the front hall. When they reached it, they noticed right off Ivan standing near the entrance talking with Alfred, who was hanging off him in a similar way to how Arthur was hanging off Francis.

“Oh! _Privyet_!” Ivan waved with his free hand, grinning cheekily, “Did you both sleep well last night?”

“Ah, well enough, _non_?” Francis smirked back and turned to Alfred, “How are you feeling this morning?”

"I'm alright," Alfred muttered, scowling at Francis. "At least I can walk." Alfred glanced at Arthur. The two shared a look, and then glanced away.

"So where are you lot off to?" Arthur asked.

“I promised Alfred we would go to whatever cafe he wanted and he could eat to his heart’s content,” Ivan hummed, “After that I’m not too sure, but we’ll think of something, _da_?”

"Where are you off to, Dad?" Alfred asked curiously.

"Miguel told Francis about some castle, so we're heading out to see that," Arthur answered. "We'll probably stop to eat somewhere, and then sightsee around the coast a bit."

"Not bad," Alfred hummed.

Ivan slipped his arm more securely around Alfred’s back. “Well, we’ll be heading out then!”

“Er, wait a moment,” Francis frowned slightly, “Since when do you speak Portugeuse... or Spanish...?”

Ivan hummed, “Well, I thought I might get by, surely someone knows English at least, or French, _da_?”

“Maybe...” Francis looked skeptical, but decided not to question further. “Anyway, we must be on our way as well!”

"Alfred, be safe," Arthur fretted, "Don’t do anything stupid, understand?"

Alfred smiled. "Sure thing!" Arthur looked worried, but Ivan had already whisked Alfred away. Arthur sighed and turned to Francis.

“Well, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Francis sighed, “Gilbert doesn’t know any Spanish either but manages to get along alright without it. Though I’ll grant you he tends to stick by Antonio a lot... well no matter.” Pulling Arthur along, Francis took to the streets and began ambling along in the vague direction of the coast, all the while admiring the architecture and the clear blue sky. “There is certainly good weather in Portugal, _non_?”

"Yes," Arthur agreed, also admiring the landscape and the area around. "Although I do miss the rain at times, the sky is beautiful and the weather is wonderful."

Francis nodded absently, “ _Oui_... actually we’ve been rather lucky for a while. No serious storms have occurred while we have been at sea for months. But honestly, how can one miss the rain?” The Frenchman looked at Arthur in bemusement.

"Well rain is so very common in England," Arthur said fondly, his eyes turning distant and his thoughts flying back to his homeland. "It was a cherished day whenever blue skies shone through, but too much blue always made us sad. The grey clouds seemed comforting, and the rain was poetry that couldn't be captured in words, couldn't be written. It hushed crying babes to sleep, whispered words of comfort to the sad, toyed with the wind as it pelted down. The rain is a glorious thing, even if it is tiresome at times. It made us proud, made me proud, that people could live in such a gloomy place, but still find hope, and the will to go on."

Arthur sighed happily. "It's indescribable really. But nothing is better than sitting in the living room, warmed by a strong cup of tea, and listening to the rhythmic patter of the rain as it fell."

Francis frowned ever so slightly and looked straight ahead. “You... made it sound rather beautiful, I’ll admit, though I doubt I’ll ever exactly love the rain... even if it was raining when you first admitted you loved me,” Francis smirked down at Arthur for a brief moment before looking ahead again. “I still prefer the sun. If the sun is shining you can easily forget things that are troubling you, _non_? You become cheered up regardless of how upset you are, rain seems to drain the light and colour from everything...” Francis sighed and looked up at the blue sky, a small smile returning to his lips. “The sun though... she would never do such a thing. Though I know rain is necessary at times to keep the plants alive, I cannot help but prefer the sun.”

Arthur looked up at Francis, smiling. "I suppose we do have our differences," he hummed. They continued walking in silence. It was awhile before Arthur spoke up again.

"It'll never happen," Arthur sighed sadly, "But I want to show you my land one day. You've shown me France, and admittedly it is a beautiful place, so different from what I've been raised to believe." The Englishman shrugged. "It'll never happen though."

Francis made a thoughtful sound, “Well, you never know the future, _cheri_. Perhaps one day it will become possible. Though at the moment I agree, it is best to avoid it.” He chuckled. “Perhaps in ten or twenty years you will be unrecognisable and then we could visit.”

"Ten years," Arthur said softly, wrapped up in his thoughts. "So far, I can't even picture next week." Arthur was silent before turning and giving Francis a rare and true smile. "Alright, one day then. One day we'll see England together. I'm putting my faith in this frog, don't you dare destroy it."

Francis paused in their walking long enough to dip his head and lay a soft, chaste kiss on Arthur’s lips. “I would not dare,” he whispered against Arthur’s mouth before drawing back and leading Arthur on down the streets and out of town. Now they had reached the road heading closer to the coastline and would eventually scale some hills. At the top of one would be the castle.

Arthur happily walked alongside Francis, languidly enjoying the view of the coast as they continued on. They trekked up the hill, Arthur only feeling a slight discomfort from his sore arse, but nothing else disturbed them as they slowly neared the decaying abandoned castle that immediately captured the Englishman's interest.

“Ah, there she is,” Francis smiled pleasantly as they drew closer, “She is still lovely, even in her old age, _non_? I wonder if it is safe to go inside...”

"It really is a beaut," Arthur agreed enthusiastically. "Even withered by the elements, still it's standing strong. Perhaps we should ask if we can enter?"

Francis nodded and together they began searching for anyone who might be able to tell them if the structure was safe or not. To their dismay, the only other people around were Romanian tourists who did not seem to speak much of any language Francis nor Arthur knew and at any rate would likely not know the answer to their question anyway. When Francis saw Arthur’s disappointed look he stood tall and smirked.

“Well, I suppose we will just have to find out for ourselves, _non_? What is exploration without a hint of the unknown?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, but shrugged, the hint of a smile ghosting over his face.

"Alright then, I don't see why we shouldn't go in," Arthur agreed, beginning to grow excited again. "The worst thing that could happen is we get kicked out or die."

Francis grinned, taking up Arthur’s hand again and leading him up the cracked and chipped stone staircase that led up to the entrance. Along the edges could be seen the remains of a large set of wooden doors, long since broken open by invaders or vandals and rotting away, exposed to the elements. The front hall was also laid with cracked stones, a faded and crumbling mosaic visible in it depicting a dolphin, warped by time with many coloured stones missing, probably taken by tourists as souvenirs.

“Be sure to step carefully, I have no idea if there is a basement under any part of this castle or how sturdy the floor is. Test your steps, _non?_ ” Francis warned as they entered the front hall, marvelling at the impressive height of the ceiling. A few small, red candles could be seen in the corners of the room, and some wall murals, mostly of sea creatures and some of militia, were still on the walls even with parts of them eaten away by mould. Any wall hangings and items of value, even the candle holders, had all been looted long ago.

Arthur carefully and softly stepped around the cracks of the stones. He was speechless as he took in the beautiful corroding state of the front hall. Arthur tightened his grip on Francis's hand before letting go, and allowing his curiosity lead him away from Francis's side. He stepped closer to the cold walls, timidly touching them. Closing his eyes, Arthur tried to imagine what the castle would have looked like in its full prideful glory. Locking the image away, Arthur opened his eyes and leisurely wandering the room. Tall wooden doors on the side of the hall nicked his attention. He pushed one open to glimpse at the elongated corridor that stretched out behind the rotting doors. Arthur hummed opened the door a bit wider, taking a cautious step forward. The stone floor beneath his foot held, and Arthur took that as an invitation from the castle itself to go forward.

“Do not go too far, and if you notice a wooden floor at any point, do not even attempt to walk on it!” Francis warned as he caught up to Arthur, “Just looking at these doors, I wouldn’t trust any wood to still be strong enough to support your weight.”

Arthur shot him a look before nodding. "Right."

He continued walking down the dusty and bare corridor, it might have been filled with paintings, a lavish rug, and furniture at one point, but now it was naked to the world. Its old stones simply remained, sturdy and proud. In the entire corridor, only three wooden doors were in it. Two on either side of the hall, carved in the middle, and one at the very end. Arthur stopped before the doors, and opened the one on the left.

It was a large room with high ceilings and a single grand window that looked out to the grounds outside before castle. It seemed as though it had been mostly left alone, only touched by Father Time himself. In the corner was what might have once been a grand mahogany four poster bed, but was now faded and broken. On it was still the silken bed sheets, eaten away by the moths and covered in layers of dust. Before it stood a cracked and broken treasure box, its lid ripped halfway off so that it hung pitifully from one shingle. Inside the box were toys that looked as if they belonged to a child. Shoved against the wall in front of the bed was a desk that looked ready to fall over from a single touch. On it were curling yellow parchments, faded grey writing barely visible on its old surface. Before the stained window was a moulding rocking chair.

A grand wardrobe, its doors cracked as if it had been slashed by an axe or a sword, leaned in the corner beside the window. Another wooden door stood off to the left, closed. On the floor was a large red rug, eaten away by time and things that crawled. What made the rug stand out was the yellow stitching in it that intricately created a map of the world from the time period that the castle had been used. Why it had not been taken, Arthur was unsure. The only thing that might have given any indications was the large crusted substance that looked like centuries old dried blood.

Checking the floor, Arthur stepped forward, his voice gone as he looked around. This room had been left, as to why, they would never know. The room alone was witness to that reason, and would hold this secret forever, along with the memories it once held.

“This is quite amazing,” Francis marvelled as he wandered straight to the silken bed sheets, “It’s almost a shame these weren’t salvaged, when they were new they would’ve been worth quite a bit...” the Frenchman circled to the toy chest and pulled out a few toy soldiers and a small carved fort. “These are... these are quite good craftsmanship as well. I wonder if Peter is too old for such things...” Francis pondered, his eyes growing distant.

Arthur stepped toward the rocking chair, his hand trembling as he touched it. It looked so similar to the one his mother used to have; then again rocking chairs were usually styled the same. He touched the old wood, its surface rough and fragile. Arthur slowly drew his hand back and looked at the window. Although stained with grime and dust, yellowing in some parts from age, the rays of sunlight still filtered in. Arthur tried to gently wipe away the dust, unsuccessful. He looked around the room again. He looked down and crouched by the rug, fingers tracing the yellow stitching of Europe.

“Arthur,” Francis called out, trying to break the Englishman’s trance. He held up the soldiers. “With some touching up on the paint these could be made nice again, do you think Peter would like them?”

Arthur blinked, snapping back to the present and looking up at Francis. "He would love it," Arthur agreed, nodding and straightening up. He held out his hand, carefully taking one of the toy soldiers in his grasp. He looked it over, blinking slowly as he stared at it. He looked at the other soldiers. "They all have different painted faces," he commented. "Wow, who ever made these put so much time and attention in them."

Francis nodded swiftly. “Indeed. Though the paint is faded, so they will need a fresh coat I should think. Still, they would make a nice gift and I doubt they’re getting much use here.”

Arthur nodded. "Take them then." He handed the soldier back and looked out the door to the room across. "'I wonder if that is another child's room," he murmured.

Francis hummed, “It’s possible.” The two crossed the hall and tried to open the other door. There was a problem though. “It’s stuck... or locked...” Francis frowned, smacking the door and pressing against it to no avail. “How odd, one would think... but no, it is probably just stuck. Someone would’ve broken a lock by now.”

"What, you think it's still possibly in use?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow at Francis.

“ _Non, non_ , that’s not possible,” Francis shook his head, “Just look at the state of this place, there’s no way anyone still lives here. Or, well, if there were squatters then surely they would’ve picked a room further into the castle than this.”

Arthur nodded and looked down the hall. "What's down there, you suppose?"

“Er...” Francis glanced to the last door, “Well, either they placed a master bedroom there, or perhaps another child’s... maybe even a playroom. If not those... stairs to the second floor?” Francis frowned, “Though if there are stairs it’s odd they would put a child’s bedroom in this particular hallway.”

Arthur started toward it. "Let's check it out then."

Francis followed Arthur and the last doorway eased open to reveal indeed what was likely a master bedroom. This bed had been stripped of sheets, but the down mattress remained on a deteriorating bed frame that once held a canopy above it. The furniture looked quite grand, but also large.

“They must have built the furniture inside this room from various pieces, these dressers for example, they would never fit through a door,” Francis mused as he ran a hand across the extremely dusty surface.

Arthur agreed, before a thought struck him. "So they have a corridor here that ends with a master bedroom, one child's room, and a locked door?" Arthur hummed. "It seems strange."

Francis nodded slowly. “It does, does it not? I can only imagine... perhaps they put the lord’s family on the ground floor for safety reasons? Or perhaps more than one family lived here, and this is a set of apartments for, say, the lord’s brother and his family?”

"Maybe," Arthur agreed. "It makes a bit more sense. Shall we keep looking around?"

“If you would like,” Francis smiled, “Lead the way, _lapin,_ I will follow you.”

"Okay, come on then," Arthur nodded and turned around, heading back to the beginning.

When they re-entered the front hall, Francis quickly noted a small wooden door near a corner. “That kind of door likely leads to the servant’s quarters, if you would be interested in that kind of thing.”

Arthur paused and shrugged. "I...I suppose."

Francis frowned a little. “If you’re not interested we don’t have to, you know.”

"Oh it's not that," Arthur said. "I just feel like you might not fit through that since it's narrow."

“What?” Francis looked shocked and looked between himself and the door several times. “ _Non_... _non_ I can fit! Surely you are not calling me fat?” Francis shot Arthur an expression usually seen on the faces of kicked puppies.

Arthur laughed, smirking. "Well I was thinking a bit broad around the shoulders, but if you want to get into your waist size, I can happily say a few things!"

Francis scowled, “That is hardly needed. And _oui_... I suppose my shoulders might be a little broad... but if I turn sideways it shouldn’t be a problem.” He strode up to the door and opened it, revealing a narrow, nearly black corridor lit only by small windows high up on the wall that barely relieved any of the gloom. The Frenchman squeezed in through the door with a little effort, but then froze. Light skittering could be heard as well. “Oh... rats...” Francis shivered and then tried to frantically get out through the doorway, but twisted the wrong way or something and suddenly noticed something terrible. “I-I’M STUCK!” he wailed, “H-help!” He reached out to Arthur with the hand still in the front hall.

Arthur was torn between laughing or not. Since Francis couldn't see him anyway, he shook his head, smiling broadly. "Oh Francis," he sighed. "I just knew it." Arthur walked up to Francis and took hold of his hand with one of his own hands and shoved his other hand into the opening to grab hold of Francis's shoulder. "Alright, try turning and I'll pull," Arthur instructed.

Francis nodded and started to do as Arthur asked, but just then a large, black, hairy rat scampered out of the dark, running over the Frenchman’s foot on the way through the door. Francis screamed like and little girl and flew forward to escape the rodent for some insane reason. He popped out of the doorframe, though on the wrong side. “ _MERDE_!” Francis shouted and looked out at Arthur from the narrow hallways he couldn’t even face forward in completely, “Arthur, I do not think I’ve ever told you this, but I do not like rats.”

"Oh I guessed," Arthur huffed. "Come back and try getting through the frame. And try to ignore the damn rodents."

Francis gave a quick nod and re-entered the doorway, wincing as he held in his stomach and tried to push through. It took almost a minute, but at last he managed the feat, though now he was rather dirty and his shirt had a couple of rips in it, which of course the Frenchman whined over. “ _Sacre bleu_ , what a terrible passageway! I feel bad for the servants that would have to use it every day.”

Arthur shook his head and took as closer look at the passage. He could probably fit through the passage with much more ease, but decided against it. He didn't want to have to deal with rats either. He looked up at Francis. "So do you want to continue, or go back to change?" he asked.

Francis shook his head. “We will not be coming back here, so there’s no point in leaving right away for that alone but... oh, and after all that fuss we left the soldiers in that’s children’s room! I put them on the bed and forgot... we should go grab them. I do not think the upper floor will be safe, the ceilings in the bedrooms we saw were wood and the floors above us are likely the same. It’s too risky.” The Frenchman sighed, “So we should grab the soldiers... well after that we might as well head back so I can change and we can get something to eat, _non_?”

"Alright," Arthur agreed. "Let's go get them."

The two headed back to the first set of rooms and opened the door to the child’s room. Francis froze. “I-it’s not on the bed...” he walked further into the room and checked the chest. There the soldiers sat. “I... must have been mistaken. I put them back in the chest after all.” Shaking his head, the Frenchman pulled out the soldiers and fort, made sure all the soldiers were inside the fort, and turned to Arthur. “Ready to go, _lapin_?”

Arthur was staring at the chest, his eyes narrowed. "Love, how sure are you that you left them on the bed?" Arthur asked seriously. Although he had not seen any lately, it could no doubt have been some fairies or sprites just having a little fun in trying to scare them.

“Well, fairly certain but... obviously I was wrong,” Francis shrugged, and then frowned slightly, “Unless you think someone else is in here with us? It’s odd to think they would be tidying this room after us though. At any rate, we only went through the front hall so we would’ve seen if anyone else had come inside.”

"Well, this is a child's room," Arthur said, walking into the room and standing in the middle. "It isn't common, only those with special ties to the child stay for so long, but it could be fairies. They adore children, and usually play tricks on adults for fun."

Arthur turned his head, hearing a small giggle from under the bed. Completely ignoring Francis, he walked over to the bed and knelled by it. He reached out for the bed sheet that draped over the sides of the bed and considered hitting what was underneath, but decided against it.

"Excuse me," he said softly. "Ma'am, Miss Fairy, do you mind if we take the soldiers? You see, I have a small boy who would adore them." The bed sheet lifted slightly, and Arthur smiled as he saw the tell-tale shine that made fairies luminous and beautiful.

"You," she said in a tiny tinkling voice. "Take it to your boy. We have no use of it anymore. Take care of the soldiers."

Arthur nodded. "I will thank you." The fairy dropped the sheet and Arthur stood up, smiling happily. He was always so happy to speak to the mythological creatures, they had been is friends as a child, even if they did try to steal him once. "Well," Arthur said, turning to Francis. "Let's go then."

Francis looked seriously between Arthur and the bed, then got on his hands and knees to look under it himself before standing again and going to Arthur, placing a hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling ill? You should have told me if you were sick! You don’t have a fever but...”

Arthur blinked in surprised. "Wh-What? Sick? Francis I'm perfectly fine! I was just-" He cut himself off, realizing that Francis couldn't see the fairy. Arthur sighed in agitation. "Look Francis, I was speaking to a fairy," Arthur clarified. "You won't see her unless she wants to show herself to you, even then you might not see her either. Only adults with special eyes can see fairies and other things. Children can see them until they begin to mature and get older."

“A fairy?” Francis said faintly, giving Arthur a look of concern. “Perhaps... perhaps we should head back now and you can lie down for a while. You might’ve gotten too much sun today.”

Arthur groaned, glaring at Francis. "Bloody frog. Just because you can't see like I can." Arthur picked up the fort that Francis had put down and marched off. "Hurry up frog!"

He hated being treated like he was crazy for speaking to the fairies. Although his brothers had specifically warned him about speaking to the fairies when in public or when with someone who wouldn't believe him that had never stopped Arthur. Still, the Englishman hated when people thought he was making them up, Arthur could never make up such marvelous creatures.

Francis sighed, but did follow Arthur out of the room, the hall, and then out of the castle itself to the sunlight. “Um... so let me know if there were any cafes in particular that caught your eye so we know where to go to eat?”

"Alright," Arthur nodded. "But you still want to go and change, right? That way we can drop this off."

“ _Oui_ , I meant so we’ll know where to go later,” Francis replied as they headed down the hill, “And let me know if you get tired of carrying that fort, I will gladly take the load like a true gentleman, _non_?”

Arthur laughed and he walked alongside Francis. "A French gentleman, now I've heard it all," he teased.

Francis pouted. “Frenchmen are all true gentlemen! If a young lady has forgotten her umbrella, do we not give ours to her in exchange for her calling card? If a handsome young man is in need of directions to a hotel, do we not offer to take him there ourselves, all the way up to his room and bed?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I was teasing you, frog."

“Oh... but of course, you know I’ve been nothing but a gentleman since we began our little adventure!” Francis chuckled to himself and put an arm around Arthur’s back to grope at his arse.

"Francis!" Arthur squeaked, blushing red and glaring at the Frenchman. "Don't do sudden things like that! I could've dropped the fort!"

Francis chuckled again and backed off a pace, holding his hands in front of him. “ _Desole,_ I will not do it again while you’re holding the fort. Oh, but we will need to get some paints for it then. This will give you a project on the ship, _non_? You won’t have to run around trying to find odd things to help out with for a while.”

"That's true," Arthur agreed. "Although I don't mind helping Yong-Soo in the kitchen, it'll be nice to have something else to do."

“Something that doesn’t involve a Korean making excuses to grab at your chest every few moments?” Francis said cheekily, nudging Arthur in the ribs with his elbow.

"Jealous?" Arthur countered haughtily. "He's made more grabs at my chest in a day then you do in a week, love."

“ _Oui_ , but that’s because I know that it is far more satisfying to grope at other areas, _non_?” Francis grinned. Arthur gave him a look, unable to really come up with a comeback to that, not without making Francis mad. He huffed and pouted, unwilling to vocalize his defeat.

Francis tittered and put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder to stop him, laying a kiss on his forehead before pressing on forward. “You are too cute, _petit_.” Arthur blushed, simply glaring at his lover. Not that it ever had affect, it was just habitual. Soon they reached the inn, although it seemed as if everyone was still out and about. They continued up to their room. Arthur set the fort down on the drawers that were provided by the inn, and opened it to look at the soldiers again while Francis changed.

Once Francis was finally dressed as elegantly as usual, he tapped Arthur on the shoulder and beckoned that he follow him out the door. “So have you thought of a cafe you’d like to try?”

"I saw a nice small one a bit back nearer to the castle," Arthur said, walking alongside Francis. "It looked nice and cozy, so I wanted to try it out."

With a sound of agreement, the two headed into the streets and began to walk toward the cafe. “This day has been remarkably peaceful, actually, apart from the rats...” Francis commented as they neared their destination.

"I told you that you wouldn't fit," Arthur sighed. "But you had to go and prove a point."

The small cafe was wedged between two other small stores in a tri-plex made of bricks. Two sets of decorative iron seats and chairs were outside before the cafe. The inside was visible due to the large glass windows. Inside, either side of the walls were covered with wrapped treats that could be taken to the clerk that was opposite to the door. Beside the clerk was a large glass case filled with cakes and sweets. A window that probably led to the kitchen was just behind the clerk's desk.

“Ah _oui_ , this is very... quaint!” Francis said happily as they entered, “Cozy... _oui, bon_...” Francis looked around at the assorted sweets and smiled, “Well, I think some tea is in order, as well as biscuits and... can you see anything you would like to sample? I think those éclairs look rather nice...”

"Earl Grey~!" Arthur wailed happily, pointing to the small chalkboard menu attached to the glass case. On it was scribbled an assortment of drinks, one of them being the Briton’s favorite tea.

Francis chuckled. “ _Oui, oui_ , though I was referring to the cakes... but of course you may have your tea. You should eat something too, I think.”

Arthur blinked. "Huh? Oh! Right, cakes." The Englishman glanced at the sweets before deciding upon the strawberry cheesecake. "That looks good."

Francis nodded and went to the cashier to pay for a cup of Earl Grey, a cup of peppermint tea, an éclair and a slice of strawberry cake. Once these were in hand, Francis led Arthur to a table outside so they could continue to enjoy the sun as they ate. “It might be a little warm out for tea though...” Francis admitted as he took a small sip.

"It's still good," Arthur hummed peacefully, taking a sip of the tea. He relaxed greatly, happily drinking the tea and taking an occasional bite from the cake. Francis hummed, carefully taking a bite of his éclair and sensually licking up the cream from the tip, making obvious bedroom eyes at Arthur. Arthur blushed and looked away. With the tea making him relaxed and slightly lazy, he was afraid of what the lusty Frenchman would convince him to do.

Francis continued to work his way ever so slowly through his pastry, occasionally taking a sip of tea, but seeming much more interested in carefully devouring the phallic shaped sweet, digging his tongue into the cream filled center and licking his lips as well, his eyebrows wiggling when Arthur dared make eye contact again. He swallowed and grinned. “What is on your mind, _lapin_?”

"That you’re a bloody wanker," Arthur mumbled, taking another sip of his tea.

Francis giggled, “And nothing _else_?” The Frenchman’s fingers walked across the table to take hold of Arthur’s free hand.

Arthur looked down at their intertwined hands, blushing. "And that you’re planning something."

The Frenchman hummed and stroked the back of Arthur’s hand with his thumb. “Actually, I had something planned for back at the castle, but when we got there I decided it was a little too dirty for my tastes... still, it would have been a exotic place...” Francis sighed, “Well, _c’est le vie_. But do not worry, I have other plans in mind, hon hon hon...”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Buy me another cup of tea, and then maybe I'll say yes." A man could never have too much tea. Besides if Francis was going to do something perverted, then Arthur wanted more of his tea.

Within three minutes Francis had managed to summon up a second cup of Earl Grey which was eagerly placed under Arthur’s nose. “Does this please you, _mon amour?_ ”

Arthur smiled widely, just as eager in taking the cup. "Yes, oh yes it does." He took a sip from it, shivering as the continued taste of the Earl Grey filled his tongue.

“Like a kitten with milk,” Francis commented, sounding rather amused as he watched Arthur sip happily at his tea cup. Arthur didn't even send him the usual glare. He was too busy favoring the drink in his hands. Francis shook his head, his own tea and pastry long since finished. “Oh!” he said suddenly, “I nearly forgot- we’re in port one more day and tomorrow Gilbert, Miguel and I are going to be taking Antonio... well forcing Antonio to come drinking with us. I would invite you but... ah, given the nature of Antonio’s distress... well as Gilbert put it, we are having a ‘boys’ night out’. You understand, _non_?”

Arthur looked up at Francis and nodded. "Sure," Arthur hummed. "I suppose I'll work on painting the soldiers, or see if Ivan will lend me my son and maybe Matthew, Alfred, and I can spend time together as well."

Francis smiled, “That’s a good idea. Although... just from the amount of time I’ve seen Alfred out of Ivan’s sight... I would say if you are with Alfred, Ivan will likely be hanging around as well...” The Frenchman sighed, “To be honest, I’m not sure if having Alfred around is a good or bad thing for Ivan... on the one hand he does seem happier this way, but on the other, he’s becoming very... dependant on him as well.” He chuckled, slightly. “I suppose if Ivan is truly keeping faithful to Alfred it’s made the Russian ship a much nicer place to work, if nothing else.”Arthur hummed, troubled by the thoughts that Francis had spoken so easily, thoughts he had tried to ignore.

"Well, I can only hope that Alfred is happy," Arthur mumbled, looking down into his tea. Dependence was such a dangerous thing, but Arthur understood what it meant to rely on another for sanity or for peace.

“I... well he doesn’t seem _un_ happy, at the moment at least,” Francis said carefully, gauging Arthur’s mood and reactions. “He’s certainly faring better than any other... companion I’ve seen Ivan with. Perhaps Ivan is in a state where he merely is mistrustful of whether or not Alfred intends to leave him and in time it will pass and he will be content to leave him alone with others.” Arthur nodded, taking another sip of his tea.

Eventually, Alfred did manage to finish his beverage and Francis left the cafe a generous tip before they left. “Now, _lapin_ , I know how disappointed you are that we didn’t get a chance to ‘play’ in that castle. But I have a little interesting idea... though you may find it a little childish... do you object to, hon hon hon, role playing games?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Role playing?"

“Acting!” Francis said cheerfully, “Adds spice to the bedroom, _non_? Pretend to be in a different situation than we are in... I was thinking something castle themed, perhaps king and his mistress, or king and, oh, a ‘noble’ knight, how kinky! Or a king and a new servant who he is... breaking in! Though I suppose we might have lived that one out already,” Francis hummed in thought, and Arthur couldn’t help but be grateful that the locals here did not seem to speak any English.

"My god, that's awkward," Arthur groaned, shaking his head as another blush spread across his face. He was quiet for awhile before slowly saying, "What about a royal and their butler?"

The Frenchman paused briefly, and then broke into a winning smile, “Ah! That sounds perfect! Of course a butler must fulfil his master’s every need but is still sophisticated and a confidant... oh what a delicious pair that could make! You are so clever, _mon amour_ ,” Francis pinched Arthur’s cheek and laughed.

Arthur whined and scowled. He slapped Francis hand away and crossed his arms. "So I suppose we're going back to the inn then?

“ _Oui_ ,” Francis took up Arthur’s hand again as they strolled down the streets in the fading light of the sun, “Though I am curious... who do you think ought to be the butler in this arrangement?”

"I don't know," Arthur hummed. He was actually interested in this little role playing game. "But...these Role Playing things have somewhat of a story to it, right?"

“Ah, they do,” Francis nodded, “Though some stories are more elaborate than others. We can be very simple, a butler is readying his king or... or his prince!” Francis suddenly grinned ferally, “Oh that’s even more delicious, the butler readies the prince for bed and the prince, despite knowing he is engaged to the princess of another land and will be wed in the morrow, confides to his butler his misgivings and confesses a deep attraction beyond social status, ordering the butler who while he fears for the scandal cannot help but be enchanted with the beautiful prince and then he gives in to the command and they have passionate lovemaking all night long! HON HON HON!” The loud laugh did attract some stares from passersby.

Arthur shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Well that's one thought. I was thinking that the butler, completely loyal to the prince and the prince alone, was ordered to kill his beloved prince by the king or another superior. Both of them know it that the order was placed, and the prince easily guessed that his butler was the one to fulfill the order, so the prince admits his secret love for his butler, and the two proceed to make love." He blushed, looking away.

Francis looked intrigued, “I did not realise you had such a flair for the dramatic! Of course that’s also an excellent idea. Though in this case, I believe you would make a better prince, if only because I’d love to hear you admit your secret love to me...”

Arthur blushed and continued looking away in embarrassment. "F-Fine."

“Oh, and I have the perfect things to wear!” Francis squealed suddenly, clapping his hands, then freezing, “But they’re on the ship... Arthur!” the Frenchman pointed at his lover with determined eyes, “You go back to the inn and wait in our room. I will stop by the ship quickly and oh... you are in for a treat!” He started to cackle, a dark lustful aura hanging about him.

Arthur looked weary. "I have this sinking feeling I'll regret it." But he did agree and ended up walking the rest of the way back to the inn while Francis rushed off to the ship.

The first thing Arthur noticed when he entered the hall that led to his room was that Ivan had Alfred pinned against their room’s door and was making out with the boy rather enthusiastically as the American groped blindly for the door handle. Neither noticed Arthur even as the handle was found and they both nearly fell into the room when the door opened, casually kicking it shut behind them.

Arthur stood there, processing what he had just seen. "What...the bloody...fucking...hell?" Trying to shake away that image, he went into his own room and tossed himself on the bed and let out a long groan into the pillow.

It was almost an hour before Francis burst into the room, breathing hard with a sack in his hands. “I brought our costumes~!” he said needlessly as he dropped the sack on the bed and pulled out some green silk robes and some gold jewels which he tossed at Arthur’s chest, followed by a gold ring that would fit around his head. “You will be a very rich prince, _non_? Now hurry and change, I will do myself up in the bathroom and you tell me when you are ready and stretched out for me, hon hon hon... I thought you could pretend to be asleep and when I came in you could sense me and waken as I stand above you with a knife? Or perhaps you would prefer... oh if you’d like I can run and get you another cup of the tea the inn provides and we can pretend it is poisoned or something similar? Or I could merely walk in with a gun concealed while you’re reading... do you have a preference or suggestion?” Francis asked eagerly. “There are just SO MANY ways to commit an assassination!”

Arthur laughed, just as excited. Honestly, this was bound to be the most fun he had had when pertaining to sex. "The poisoned drink sounds good," Arthur decided. "It doesn't have to be anything in specific, water is fine. Now go get it while I change."

“Right away, sire,” Francis gave a flourishing bow and grabbed up the bag, rushing out the door to change and fetch what was needed, leaving Arthur to sort through the robes and jewels by himself.

Arthur smiled and quickly undressed. The robes fitted perfectly, although a bit loose around the sleeves. He carefully placed the ring on his head, awed by the weight that accompanied it. He looked into the mirror as he adorned himself with the jewels Francis has given him. He looked as different as he felt; the luxurious robe and jewels gave him a noble look.

"King Arthur," the Englishman chuckled. "Like from the stories and games of my youth." He let out a small noise, and sat himself on the bed, waiting for Francis.

After about ten minutes, there was a knock on the bedroom door. Francis laid on the French accent thick when he called, “Sire, I have brought your warm milk to help you sleep tonight, may I enter~?”

"Yes Francis, enter," Arthur said loudly, his own accent thicker than usual.

The door swept open and Arthur’s eyes widened slightly to see Francis done up in tasteful black pants and shined shoes with a pressed white top and black vest. He also wore white gloves and had his hair pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck. Over one arm he had a white napkin draped and in his other hand was a tray with a perfectly balanced mug of steaming hot milk. Actually, the end result was a look closer to that of a waiter in restaurant than of a butler, but it could be supposed that it was the best Francis could do on short notice and there was a brief moment where Arthur wondered if this was how Francis would dress when he worked as a server in Elizabeta’s restaurant all those years ago.

At any rate, Francis swept into the room and shut the door behind him, walking briskly to the bed and setting the milk on the side table before kneeling beside the bed. His face was uncharacteristically grave throughout the proceeding, and after a moment of kneeling his blue eyes rose and locked with Arthur’s briefly before looking away. “I... I trust that you shall sleep... well, tonight, my liege.”

"You’re nervous Francis," Arthur said softly, quickly falling into character. He reached out and cupped Francis's cheek. "You act as though my death will be done tonight." The Englishman chuckled humourlessly.

Francis bit his lip and gently reached up to pull Arthur’s hand from his cheek. “ _Non_... that... forgive me sire but that is ridiculous. W-what fear of death could you have in here? You are well guarded, the only one with direct access to you in such a vulnerable state is myself.” A small smile was pulled over Francis’s face, but he was making it overly wide to show it was meant to be false.

"True," Arthur said in a light tone. He stood up and slowly took the cup of milk. Arthur then sat back down, crossing his legs. "But even here I can feel my brother's poisonous words that turn the world against me." He smiled down at Francis, eyes showing the excitement he felt despite the tired and worn tone he spoke with.

Francis let out small gasp, his eyes focused completely on the cup in Arthur’s hands before forcing his gaze up to Arthur’s eyes. “Do... do not worry about your brother. He is already king, why should he wish kill you now?” Francis’ eyes darted away, across the room, “Though it is true you have more popularity in the kingdom, or did until... well, even so, he is the elder son and so inherits the kingdom based on the ancient law. What good would your death do for him?”

"My death would be an achievement for him, something that goes back to a single fight so long ago." Arthur sighed. "You know Francis, you've always been there for me, I cannot think of life without you in it." He blushed, but continued, smiling shyly. "Perhaps I've fallen in love." He smiled and raised the cup to his lips.

Francis widened his eyes and his hand shot out, grabbing Arthur’s wrist and steadying the cup before the milk could enter his mouth. “W-wait, what... what do you mean by that... sire? I am your servant... only a butler and nothing more, w-why should you have fallen in love with me?”

Arthur lowered the cup. "You've done so much for me Francis," Arthur said quietly, his face turning red again. "It happened so fast, I don't know how or why, but I've fallen in love with you. You're worth so much more than you make yourself out to be. I've always settled for the life that others made me think I deserved, but you've shown me that the world is bigger than what I've been raised to believe. I...I love you Francis."

The Frenchman’s mouth shut and he merely studied Arthur’s face for a short time. Slowly, he opened his mouth again to speak. “Sire... before...” Francis’ voice choked off and he took a few breaths before going on, “B-before I met you, my life held little meaning. There was only frivolity and running into the next day, living only to satisfy present bodily needs. When you hired me onto your service, I was unsure if I would be an appropriate choice for what you required. But the longer I spent with you, growing to know you better than I’ve known anyone, my only thoughts... my only purpose became to make you s-safe and... h-happy but...” Francis’ shoulders began to shake and his head dipped down to stare at the sheets of the bed. “I never thought... never dreamed you would say such words to me. W-why now... why tonight? _Mon dieu_ , why did you choose tonight to confess such a thing?”

"Because I know that my brother ordered you to kill me," Arthur said softly, a small regretful smile on his face. "My other brother came to warn me. I didn't believe it, until you came in and you acted the way you did. So long as I die by your hands, I don't think I care."

Francis gasped, and his eyes rose to meet Arthur’s again. They were wet... well the Frenchman did have a flair for the dramatic, it was really no wonder he could force tears in such a situation. “You don’t care? You don’t... how can you say such words to me!” Francis snapped, now standing and towering over Arthur on the bed, looking rather angry. “I, who have saved your life personally twice! I who help you to dress and bathe, I who feeds you the best of foods, whose one job is to keep you alive... you tell me that is doesn’t matter if I kill you? More than anyone, I should... I should not be doing such a task... please, I would rather you call me a traitor and stab me through the heart with a dagger than to hear you give me permission!”

"No," Arthur said firmly, sitting calmly. "What is there left, Francis? My brother has chased me to the ends of the world, even here where I am the safest; I know he will find me eventually. Why should I not give him what he wants? I will not allow myself to end by his hands, nor am I brave enough to end it." He reached a hand up to the Frenchman. "In this secluded room, I will die Francis. I...I only beg you for two things. First, do not blame yourself. This is by my choice."

“ _Non_ , please, I-I’ve spent days trying to work up the courage to carry out this task but to have you knowing full well... H-how can I not blame myself for taking your life? And yet still I... w-what... what is the second thing you would want of me?”

Arthur slowly stood and walked past Francis to put the cup down. Back still turn to Francis, mostly to hide the dark blush on his face, he softly said, "Make love to me."

There was a silence, then, “ _Pardon_? Sire... you cannot... we cannot... y-you expect me to commit such an act of passion and then kill you after that? I could not bear it!” Arthur could hear Francis coming up behind him and then a pair of arms encircled his torso, pulling him back against the Frenchman’s chest as a face was buried into the Briton’s golden locks. “For so long... I... I have thought of it... of course I have, you’re too beautiful to have not thought such a thing. But if we did, I could never allow you to die by my hand. Never... I-I cannot do both. Please, I... I’m not strong enough, my liege.”

"Francis," Arthur said softly. He turned in the other's arms and pressed his faced into Francis's chest. "Please, give me this one thing, this one, selfish desire." He snorted humorlessly before adding, "Besides, you're not the one killing me if I willingly drink the poison."

Francis’ arms tightened around the Englishman. “I’m not sure if I could even allow that much... but...” he let out a heavy sigh and his hand travelled lower to rub at Arthur’s lower back. “To feel you here, in my arms as I’ve wished for so long... I cannot refuse you your second request. If you offer your body to me, then I will care for it as I always have, to the best of my ability, my dearest prince.” A soft kiss was laid on Arthur’s head, which he tilted up to receive a second kiss on his lips, though this too was quite chaste. Arthur's face flushed a darker red. The slow and innocent tempo was so different from how they usually made love. It excited Arthur and made him truly feel loved. The Englishman melted into Francis's arms, reaching up on his toes for another chaste kiss.

This kiss was supplied easily, but the third kiss was accompanied by a soft, unusually hesitant tongue edging carefully into Arthur’s mouth. This was accepted, and soon rather than the typical battle of passionate dominance Arthur found he and Francis sharing a moment of quiet exploration, tongues greeting each other as though for the first time at the pace of young lovers who did not yet know nearly as much about each other’s bodies as Francis and Arthur clearly did. But as they had never truly had a first experience like this, Arthur found it only refreshing and fascinating.

After a while they drew apart, Francis gazing deeply into Arthur’s eyes and the Englishman knew the loving expression he faced was anything but an act. “Dear prince, please, would you allow me to assist you with undressing this evening?”

"Yes," Arthur said his voice thick with emotion. It was so different, so beautiful to him.

Francis nodded and then led Arthur to the bed, having him sit on the mattress before kneeling in front of him, slowly undoing the ties on Arthur’s robe. Once free, Francis gently pushed the garment off of Arthur’s shoulders. The green fabric pooled around him on the bed, and the Englishman shivered at the cool bedroom air and the cold metal of the chain that had been outside of the robe which now nestled against his bare collarbone.

“Beautiful,” Francis breathed, running a soft hand over Arthur’s exposed chest. The hand rested a moment against Arthur’s side before helping the Englishman slip first one arm and then the other out of the robe. The blush on Arthur's face refused to go away, not that he honestly cared at the moment. He shivered as Francis slowly guided his limbs out of the robe.

At last Arthur was bare before Francis’ gaze, and the Englishman wondered just how much Francis was struggling with himself not to just give up this slow progress and jump his bones there and then. The dedication to the scenario and character was testament to how much Francis truly wished to please his lover in that moment.

“My prince,” Francis lips his lips slowly, sensually though making it seem nervous as well, “Would you order that I undress myself as well?”

"Yes," Arthur nodded. He watched Francis undress slowly, his head spinning with his own emotions that were dizzying up his mind, and the emotions that flashed in Francis's clear blue eyes. It wasn't long before their lips were meeting again, although Arthur wasn't sure who had pressed forward first. It was another slow and soft kiss with their tongues cautiously dancing. Lightheaded and breathless, Arthur leaned back, slowly draping Francis over himself.

Sweet, worshipping kisses were showered over Arthur’s face, covering his forehead, eyelids, nose and cheeks, lingering on his lips before moving down to trace his jaw line. “P-prince...” Francis moved his face up to Arthur’s ear, his breath hot and heavy there as he whispered, “Arthur. My only prince, my only master, may I go lower?”

"Y-Yes," Arthur whispered, blinded by the need he felt for the man on top of him as his body quivered beneath Francis.

“ _Je t’aime_ ,” Francis breathed before traveling down, continuing to shower kisses over Arthur’s neck and then chest, only running open hands over Arthur’s nipples before going lower, tracing out Arthur’s sides with his palms and laying kiss after kiss in a fiery trail down to Arthur’s rising erection. Rather than kiss it too, however, Francis traced his fingers up to the tip and gave it a quick, experimental stroke. “Would you give me an order, sire? _S’il vous plait_? Please?”

"T-Touch me," Arthur moaned out, looking at Francis with love in his emerald eyes as he panted. "J-Just touch me Francis." He bucked his hips into Francis's still hand, loving the feeling of his lover's firm hand stroking him at a slow pace.

Francis gave a sound of affirmation, continuing his leisurely stroking from base to tip and back down again. “I wish to try something, my liege, I hope you do not take offense to it.” Speaking thus, Francis dipped his head and took the tip of Arthur’s manhood into his mouth, suckling lightly as he continued his stroking. Arthur gasped, his back lazily arching.

"Francis," Arthur moaned. "Oh, s-so good."

To this encouragement, Francis dipped his head down further, taking Arthur in half way. With one hand he fisted the remainder as he bobbed his head, the other hand reached down to roll Arthur’s sack in his palm. He let out frequent hums of pleasure, the vibrations tickling the head of Arthur’s cock.

Arthur's moans became louder and his breathing ragged. His back arched even more, wanting more of that delicious friction and hot mouth. "Ngh, Francis!" Finally the Frenchman left caution to the wind and swallowed down Arthur’s entire cock to the back of his throat, bobbing faster and kneading the Englishman’s sack in both hands, his concentration fully on making his lover cum down his throat. Arthur threw his head back, crying out in pleasure. It wasn't long before Arthur released with a scream of "Francis!"

Francis dutifully swallowed down all of Arthur’s juices, pulling himself off the man’s cock and licking at his lips to get all the drips before smiling up at the Englishman’s flushed face. “Tell me when you have caught your breath, sire, and we can move on to the next stage when you are comfortable, _non_?” Arthur panted, looking up at Francis as he caught his breath. He wet his dry lips and nodded.

"Let's continue."

Another smile was Arthur’s reply as Francis carefully lifted his legs. It was an odd feeling, being treated like glass. While it was true Francis was careful with him most of the time in as much as to avoid a serious injury, this was taking things to an extreme. It was something Arthur would usually find insulting, as if Francis thought he needed to be treated like a woman, but since this was a role play and he was meant to act the sheltered prince it made sense to him and he was left to simply enjoy such feelings.

Francis paused for a moment, then. “I... do not have a good explanation for why there is lube in the side table drawer,” the Frenchman admitted, forced to break character for a second as he reached over to retrieve the lubrication and returned his attention to Arthur. Really, the fact that a prince would have lube in his drawer was just weird, so they couldn’t really account for it in the role play. Best to ignore it. “Now, my liege, this will likely feel strange to you, but with your wellbeing in mind we must stretch you first. This should feel wonderful for both of us.” Arthur hesitated, the way he had a lot during their first few weeks of having sex when he was inexperienced.

"It...It'll hurt?"

Francis shook his head, “Not as much as you think it will, and I will do my upmost to keep you comfortable throughout it. Though of course, if you feel you cannot handle it or do not want it any longer, you may stop me at any time, my prince.”

"Okay," Arthur nodded cautiously, a nervous look on his face. "Go on with it then. I trust you."

After thoroughly coating his fingers in the lubrication, Francis slipped one inside of Arthur. Although a single finger was nothing to the Englishman now, Arthur still made sure to gasp and squirm at the intrusion like the virgin he was pretending to be. Francis tutted. “My liege, it will get better soon, believe me,” he said as he inserted a second finger. He would not be so quick with a true virgin, but as this was acting, they could speed things up enough so that Arthur could feel satisfaction a little faster at least.

Arthur faked a wince as the second finger went in. He relayed mostly on the burning feelings he remembered from his first time. However, the familiar stretch of two fingers only urged an automatic response from Arthur. The Englishman bucked his hips back onto the fingers.

Francis smirked slightly, but quickly masked it with a serious look of concentration as he sread his fingers and added a third, now searching for the prostate. Really, he knew perfectly well where it was and teased Arthur now by skirting around it, brushing only slightly as if this was his first time looking for it. Arthur groaned, flustered as he shot the Frenchman a small glare before. His hips pressed back almost urgently, a low whine slipping from his throat. It was maddening, such teasing, and if they weren't in character, Arthur would smack him for purposely avoiding that one spot.

At last Francis had mercy and hit Arthur’s prostate dead on, making the man beneath him yelp in surprise. “Oh, my prince, is this...” he pushed against it a few more times, bringing on choice moans, “It is~...” With a playful grin, Francis began to set up a rhythm, enjoy the noises Arthur would make for him.

Arthur didn't even attempt to stop the string of moans that escaped his mouth, or try to muffle the whines and groans. It felt kind of good to be vocal, not that Arthur would ever admit it. Plus, he was fairly certain his first time he would have been just as vocal if he hadn't muffled the noises.

As Francis noticed Arthur had become completely erect and started to twitch, the Frenchman pulled out and elicited a long, tortured whine from the man beneath him. “My prince, I only wish to give you something more to make this union of bodies even more pleasurable for you. Would you let me enter you in such a way, and complete my love for you, my master, my liege, my passionate prince?”

Arthur, through the slow building haze of pleasure, opened his eyes and looked up at Francis. "Yes, please. Fill me with your love, the same love I feel for you."

With a firm nod, Francis climbed up over Arthur properly, lifting the man’s legs onto his shoulders and aligning himself with the swollen hole that was begging to be entered. Slowly, carefully, Francis edged his way inside, gasping as the tight heat surrounded him with familiarity. When he was all the way inside, Francis gave a sigh of bliss. “This is just as I imagined it would be... sire, I will await your command.”

Arthur panted; the feeling of Francis entering slowly was so different from the usual swift entry. He moaned, and nodded slowly. "Yes Francis, you...you can move now."

With that the Frenchman began to thrust, but shallowly, allowing Arthur to get used to the feeling. Had he been a virgin this would still hurt a bit, but as it was he was surprised to find there was practically no pain at all. Francis’ thrusts grew deeper and longer only gradually and Arthur began to feel as though the pace was perhaps a touch too slow for his liking.

"Francis," Arthur said softly. "My love, please, go faster."

This request was complied with easily, the pace increasing and soon Arthur’s whole body was rocking with Francis’s. Frequently Francis would lower his mouth to Arthur’s face and kiss him somewhere as they went on, all the while murmuring words of undying devotion to the man. Tears welled in Arthur's eyes, although he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was the slow and loving pace they had set, or perhaps the words that Francis whispered with such firm conviction. The emotions of both pleasure and of being loved were overwhelming; perhaps that's what brought the tears? Regardless, the feeling and atmosphere of their lovemaking had hit Arthur like an emotional pile of bricks. He clung to Francis as if the Frenchman was the only thing keeping him grounded. He kissed back, trying to convey what he felt into his actions since words seemed to fail him at the moment.

After a while, the even pace began to cause a building tension inside of Arthur and he felt himself approaching orgasm. He clung to Francis as his cock twitched violently between them, threatening to spill at any moment.

“Resist, just for a few moments, I’m close, please, t-together,” Francis huffed as his pace sped again, erratically trying to reach the edge in unison with Arthur.

Moans and ragged breathing escaping Arthur's mouth as he desperately tried to obey Francis's command and hold back. At last, his straining patience was paid off. With a cry, Arthur and Francis reached their climax together. The blissful union afterward left them both panting for breath.

After a moment, Francis withdrew from Arthur and lay beside him, pulling the man against his chest. To the Englishman’s mild surprise, Francis did not seem finished with their role play now that the sex portion was over. “My prince... my prince... if I could ever know heaven, then it would be to have you like this each night in my arms.”

Touched by the words, even if they were said while in character, Arthur pressed closer to Francis and whispered in his ear, "I love you Francis Bonnefoy. Heaven or Hell, it doesn't matter, if you are by my side, then I will always be happy."

Francis sighed in bliss and ran a hand down Arthur’s back. After a moment he whispered back, “Do you truly mean that, _lapin_?” The use of the old pet name indicating that the role play was probably put on hold for the night. It was likely a good thing, Arthur was rather tired after all the hiking today and then the emotional dramatics they’d undergone.

"Every word, frog," Arthur murmured, his face filled with purity as he bore his heart to Francis. Doing that very thing he had always avoided, something he always condemned as weak, he accepted. Love. A concept Arthur never could, and thought he never would, understand. And still, Arthur found himself opening the door to the carefully constructed wall around his heart for Francis, showing rare and raw pieces of his long hidden personality. It was always this perverted and quirky Frenchman who made Arthur want to truly leave behind his shackles from the past. Love. It really was as wild and crazy as Edward had once tried to explain. Although the nagging feeling, the fear that he was only setting himself up for heartbreak always loomed in the far and dark comers on his heart; Arthur truly did love Francis. "I mean every word."

If Francis could have held Arthur closer than he was, he would have done at that moment. “ _Mon amour_ , I could never be happier than right now. If I have a say in it, I will never have myself leave your side because I could not bear you unhappy. It is strange that we have come so far, _non_?”

Arthur chuckled lightly. "Love, it would have been even more strange if we had come to this point alone and still hating each other."


End file.
